#I’m enjoying the psychopath route for now

[chocolatecatcupcakecheese]

[noforkingclue]

Her Blood Soaked Hands Chapter 1 (River Cartwright x OC)

Summary :

Naomi Heart

MI5 assassin (although really that word is just so outdated). Taverner blackmailed her into joining The Service or face prison time for a crime that she may, or may not have, done. Naomi hates having to work under Taverner but has even less desire to go to prison. Really she can see only way for her to get back her life-

Somehow make it into Slough House.

And she knows just the person to help her achieve this.

Author's Note: I wanted to go along a different route and make an OC that's a bit more... stabby than my other girls. Hope you enjoy this :)

Warnings: cannon typical violence, death (lots of death...)

Slow Horses tag list: @cillmequick

There weren’t many things that Duffy despised. Oh there were plenty of things that he hated but to loathe with a burning passion (not that he used that word too often) was far, far rarer.

Cartwright definitely made that list. An over arrogant cunt who never should’ve been made a spy in the first place. He believed that he had earned his spot due to the talents of his grandfather and not the limited ones of his own.

Taverner was next. Far too devious and would probably happily stab her own family in the back if it meant she could become First Desk. Duffy knew that she also despised, and distrusted him, so at least the feeling was mutual. Still, Duffy wanted to keep his job and Taverner was probably already plotting a way to get rid of him.

Then there was the general public. Well, specifically the public who somehow managed to get mixed up The Park’s business one way or another. They’d seen something that they shouldn’t and become snivelling wrecks. Oh well, at least the woman he was interviewing now was attractive enough to make this worthwhile.

“Ok,” he said as he led her away from the civilian emergency services, “let’s go through this one last time.”

“But I’ve already been through it with the police.” she said, a fresh set of tears pouring down her face

“Yeah, well, I need to hear it.”

“O… ok,” she sniffed once more before taking a deep breath, “I was hired to do some house sitting for the Jones’. I arrived slightly early so they could let me in-”

She cut herself off. By now Duffy and her were a suitable distance from the rest of the civilians. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She looked down at the ground and swallowed thickly. For a moment Duffy thought she was going to throw up.

“And?” Duffy said

When she looked back up any grief in her eyes and gone. She smiled widely and said,

“Well then Nick, the next thing I did was to shoot them all in the head.”

And then there was Taverner’s pet psychopath. Duffy pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. She just continued to smile and he said,

“I thought you only had one target.”

“Well you know how it is…”

“No I don’t.”

“Don’t you?” her voice lowered, “It’s not like you haven’t killed people before.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“It just is. You know I’m going to have to report this.”

“Oh good,” her smile widened which, although he would never say this, unnerved Duffy, “I do hope so.”

“Excuse me? Are you finished with your interview? We’re going to have to treat her for shock.”

Immediately the mask slipped back onto her face and she was led back towards the ambulance. Duffy shook his head as he watched her leave with the medics. They really had no idea who they were dealing with, did they?

Civilians.

*

Diana Taverner looked out of the glass wall of her office and surveyed her empire below her. She knew that technically it wasn’t fully hers just yet but that was just a formality. She liked it when The Park was like this. Only the night shift on duty, no major catastrophes to remedy or create. Only the quiet hush that-

Was interrupted by the drumming of fingers.

Diana looked in the reflection of the glass at the young woman lounging on the leather sofa. She glanced over at Diana and raised her eyebrows. Neither of them spoke, not wanting to be the first to shatter the peace. Eventually the younger woman sighed and said,

“Is this going to take much longer?”

Diana smirked. Another battle won. She didn’t immediately reply, continuing to observe those below her. The other woman closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“I didn’t realise you had anywhere else to be.”

Her eyes snapped open and she glanced over at Diana.

“I do have a life outside of here.”

“Hmm.”

She narrowed her eyes at Diana’s response. Diana turned on her heel and walked towards her desk. She sat down and picked up Duffy’s report. She read through it again before looking at her over the top of it. She wondered how many times Duffy had to redraft and edit it in order to make it professionally suitable.

“How many this time, Heart?” she asked

“Why? Didn’t Duffy remember to include it in his report.”

“I want to hear your side of things.”

“Makes a change.”

“And you’d do well to remember who is in charge.”

“I remember. Dame Ingrid Tearney, right?”

Taverner’s gaze hardened for a second before a cold smile appeared on her face. She clicked her fingers and pointed to the seat opposite her. Heart didn’t move immediately but one pointed look for Taverner made her sigh and move. She collapsed into the chair and Taverner said,

“I gave you one target.”

“You did.”

“So tell me, Naomi, why are we dealing with three dead bodies.”

Naomi bit her lip and rocked back in her chair. She looked up at the ceiling and said,

“They were paedophiles?”

“Were they?”

“Would that make things better or worse if they were?” Naomi rocked forwards and rested her elbows on Taverner’s desk

“We could work with that.”

“Then no, they weren’t. They just,” she shrugged, “got in the way.”

“You know,” Taverner’s gaze flicked back to the report, “Duffy called you a liability.”

“Did he?” Naomi said in amusement

“Among other things. None of which are overly flattering.”

“Really? Did he put that down in his report?”

“He’s suggesting that you should be terminated.”

“Literally or figuratively?”

“That,” Taverner ignored Naomi’s comment, “you shouldn’t be here.”

“And what do you think.”

Naomi and Taverner locked gazes. Taverner put down the report and leant back in her seat. She steepled her fingers and said,

“That, for the meantime, you’re useful.”

“What a relief. I would hate to be a burden.”

A brief smile flashed across Taverner’s face. Naomi looked out of the window, doing the same as Taverner earlier. The Park really was at its best like this.

“So what’s going to happen now?” Naomi asked, “I’m assuming that there’ll be an investigation.”

“No need to waste time and resources on that.”

Naomi looked over at Taverner sharply. She raised her eyebrows at Naomi before turning her attention towards her computer.

“I thought-” Naomi started

“Yes?”

Taverner’s gaze locked with Noami’s and she felt her cheeks get hot under her stare.

“Nothing.”

“If you have something to say, please, feel free.”

Free.

Naomi was anything but free. Taverner had sunk her claws so deep into her that it was almost impossible for her to see a way out.

“No,” Naomi said quietly, “no comment.”

“Good.”

“I’ll be heading off then.”

“I’ll have some more work for you tomorrow.”

“It’s a Saturday,” Naomi said, “don’t I get time off?”

“Not this Saturday. Now don’t let me detain you from your very busy personal life.”

Naomi bit her tongue as she left Taverner’s office. She was used to having the upper hand in these types of situations. Diana Taverner did nothing but bring a sense of uneasiness with every conversation. She sighed as she made her way through The Park’s corridors. Hushed whispers followed her but by now she had become used to them. Her line of work was a lonely one. Others tended to avoid people like her. Even those in the same line of work didn’t talk much. Just the odd ‘hello’ here and there but apart from that, nothing.

Naomi sighed and rested against the railing as she looked down on the people below. She could feel the stares but continued to ignore them. Diana fucking Taverner. This was all her fault. Naomi had a good life before Lady Di pushed her way into it. A good job, a nice house, things that mattered. But now Taverner had her exactly where she wanted Naomi- at her beck and call.

It wasn’t as though Naomi hadn’t tried her damnedest to get out from under Taverner. Every little trick in the book she had tried and Taverner had always managed to find a way to drag her back. Really, Naomi should’ve been expecting something like this. You didn’t become Second Desk without being unhand. Maybe Taverner was grooming her to become some sort of replacement? Doubtful. Even the mere thought made Naomi wrinkle her nose.

Oh she had no desire to go to prison, not at all, but she didn’t want to be chained up here for the rest of her career.

“Did you hear about what happened the other day?”

Naomi perked up at the possibility of hearing some gossip. Gossip was a valuable form of currency at The Park. Rumours, true or not, could easily destroy someone. Always a useful weapon to have and Naomi was constantly looking for ways to upgrade her arsenal

“Was this about those fucking Slow Horses?” the second agent said as they passed by Naomi in a hurry

Well then, why didn’t she think about them earlier?

*

It had been another rough day for River. Then again, those days were becoming more and more frequent. The bad always outweighed the good in Slough House. Jackson Lamb had the uncanny ability to suck any joy out of someone's day. In the end it was just to give up.

“Excuse me, is this spot taken?” a woman said

River shook his head but didn’t bother looking over. After all, she was just going to be waiting for someone else. No one ever went looking for a Slow Horse. How long had it been since he had gone on a date? It was hard enough to get a date when working at The Park but being in Slough House just sucked every bit of energy from River. It was why he was spending his Friday night drinking alone in a bar. Always a good sign for his future.

“You’re River Cartwright.”

Now this caught River’s attention. River finally looked over at the woman who stood next to him at the bar. She smiled at him but there was a hint of… something behind it. He had seen that look before on Taverner and on Lamb. It didn’t suit someone so young and so attractive. River tried to take another sip of his pint but ended up missing his mouth and spilling part of it down his shirt.

Estuary accent. Nothing particularly remarkable although it sounded ever so slightly forced. He narrowed his eyes as he took another sip of his pint, this time the alcohol actually going into his mouth. 

“You’re in Slough House.”

So, she was definitely Service. He winced at her statement causing a flash of amusement to cross her face. It was an automatic reaction, one that he was trying (and failing) to break. Her smile widened as she edged closer. Fuck, when was the last time he had someone this close to him who wasn’t trying to kill him? However, the disarming smile and dangerous glint in her eyes was enough for River to second guess that latter bit.

“You are.” she said quietly, her breath fanning faintly across his cheek

“It’s not exactly a secret,” muttered River, “if you work where I think you work.”

She cocked her head to the side as she studied him intently.

“You want out of there.” she said bluntly

“Who doesn’t?”

River put his pint down, slightly harsher than intended. Some more of his overpriced pint sloshed out and he tried not to think about what a waste of money that was.

“Who the fuck are you and why do you give a fuck about Slough House.”

“You want out,” the mystery woman repeated, “and I want in. Maybe we can help each other out.”

[findyourrp]

F20+ here! I am: 

an experienced advanced literate | novella roleplayer.

enjoy dark / dead dove themes, explicit content, nsfw, unhealthy/toxic dynamics, and more elements that I’d like to discuss privately!

prefer the pairing MxF (with me portraying the F role) 

Hello everyone! Not a very well-written ad, but submitting it nevertheless. I have over a decade of active experience in roleplaying as well as writing independently, though I have a strong preference for collaborating with others and creating stories filled with twists, depth and intrigue. I write 500-600 words minimum, as I enjoy incorporating purple prose, meaning plenty of description and detail, and I have no maximum word count nor an average length as I love to adapt to my partner and will go as far as 3k. I write only on discord since the server organization there is a godsend, and I’d never miss an opportunity to gush over our characters, spend hours on finding aesthetic pictures and making moodboards, oc playlists, all that. 

Right now, there are two original prompts I’m looking to explore. Keep in mind that both will contain dark, disturbing, and uncomfortable themes that might not be for everyone, to put it simply, but if either of these sounds like something you’d be interested in, don’t hesitate to like this ask and I’ll reach out to you!

Character A is a genius (aka psychopath)—so much so, that his intelligence, academic excellence, and the psychopathic traits of his behavior have made him an outcast and victim of severe bullying. As much as he’s smart, he has never been physically strong enough to defend himself or fight back… until Character B comes into the picture: a rough, tattooed, headstrong delinquent, whom witnesses the bullying one day and saves him. From then on, they slowly develop a friendship as he helps her study properly and pass her tests and, in exchange, she doesn’t let anyone lay a hand on him, and though Character B has only ever viewed him as a friend, Character A’s feelings grow into something more. Eventually they graduate, and due to circumstances, lose contact as life takes them on very different paths… until some years later, where they meet again. How do they reunite? Does Character B apply for a job at Character A’s business, never expecting to be hired or for him to turn out to be the chairman/boss? Does Character A find her by coincidence, working some shitty job at a gas station? Either way, the moment Character A sees her again, the old infatuation he’d felt comes crashing back, and at first, he’s determined to repay her for everything she had done for him in the past and perhaps even rekindle their friendship. But then… How dare she not be grateful? How dare she resist everything he’s trying to give her, to do for her? His obsession becomes sick, disturbing, and as their dynamic starts to shift into something much darker, he decides he’s never going to let her go again. [I would like to play Character B in this scenario]

Character A and Character B grew up in the same orphanage, and were close friends despite being complete opposites. Whilst Character A was quickly adopted by a wonderful couple, thrived in school, and was overall the golden child, Character B always caused trouble and was never wanted by anyone due to his problematic behavior. Eventually, as they grew older, they began to go down different routes, with Character A getting a scholarship and Character B getting involved with gangs, crime, etc. They lose contact, or rather Character A purposely cuts off all connection to him as she realizes that he is no longer the kid she used to know, and so years pass following her disappearance from his life. She graduates, gets married/engaged, has a great job, great friends.. her life is pretty much perfect, until she begins to get strange texts from an unknown number, gifts, things in her house misplaced, an unfamiliar car waiting outside her house at late hours of the night, the feeling of being watched and followed.. is it Character B? [I would like to play Character A in this scenario]

None of the details are set in stone and can be changed or altered to your preference, and I can’t wait to hear your ideas. Minors DNI! ❤️

.

[roleplay-today]

F20+ here! I am: 

an experienced advanced literate | novella roleplayer.

enjoy dark / dead dove themes, explicit content, nsfw, unhealthy/toxic dynamics, and more elements that I’d like to discuss privately!

prefer the pairing MxF (with me portraying the F role) 

Hello everyone! Not a very well-written ad, but submitting it nevertheless. I have over a decade of active experience in roleplaying as well as writing independently, though I have a strong preference for collaborating with others and creating stories filled with twists, depth and intrigue. I write 500-600 words minimum, as I enjoy incorporating purple prose, meaning plenty of description and detail, and I have no maximum word count nor an average length as I love to adapt to my partner and will go as far as 3k. I write only on discord since the server organization there is a godsend, and I’d never miss an opportunity to gush over our characters, spend hours on finding aesthetic pictures and making moodboards, oc playlists, all that. 

Right now, there are two original prompts I’m looking to explore. Keep in mind that both will contain dark, disturbing, and uncomfortable themes that might not be for everyone, to put it simply, but if either of these sounds like something you’d be interested in, don’t hesitate to like this ask and I’ll reach out to you!

Character A is a genius (aka psychopath)—so much so, that his intelligence, academic excellence, and the psychopathic traits of his behavior have made him an outcast and victim of severe bullying. As much as he’s smart, he has never been physically strong enough to defend himself or fight back… until Character B comes into the picture: a rough, tattooed, headstrong delinquent, whom witnesses the bullying one day and saves him. From then on, they slowly develop a friendship as he helps her study properly and pass her tests and, in exchange, she doesn’t let anyone lay a hand on him, and though Character B has only ever viewed him as a friend, Character A’s feelings grow into something more. Eventually they graduate, and due to circumstances, lose contact as life takes them on very different paths… until some years later, where they meet again. How do they reunite? Does Character B apply for a job at Character A’s business, never expecting to be hired or for him to turn out to be the chairman/boss? Does Character A find her by coincidence, working some shitty job at a gas station? Either way, the moment Character A sees her again, the old infatuation he’d felt comes crashing back, and at first, he’s determined to repay her for everything she had done for him in the past and perhaps even rekindle their friendship. But then… How dare she not be grateful? How dare she resist everything he’s trying to give her, to do for her? His obsession becomes sick, disturbing, and as their dynamic starts to shift into something much darker, he decides he’s never going to let her go again. [I would like to play Character B in this scenario]

Character A and Character B grew up in the same orphanage, and were close friends despite being complete opposites. Whilst Character A was quickly adopted by a wonderful couple, thrived in school, and was overall the golden child, Character B always caused trouble and was never wanted by anyone due to his problematic behavior. Eventually, as they grew older, they began to go down different routes, with Character A getting a scholarship and Character B getting involved with gangs, crime, etc. They lose contact, or rather Character A purposely cuts off all connection to him as she realizes that he is no longer the kid she used to know, and so years pass following her disappearance from his life. She graduates, gets married/engaged, has a great job, great friends.. her life is pretty much perfect, until she begins to get strange texts from an unknown number, gifts, things in her house misplaced, an unfamiliar car waiting outside her house at late hours of the night, the feeling of being watched and followed.. is it Character B? [I would like to play Character A in this scenario]

None of the details are set in stone and can be changed or altered to your preference, and I can’t wait to hear your ideas. Minors DNI! ❤️

[dark-roleplay-finder]

F20+ here! I am:

* an experienced advanced literate | novella roleplayer.

* enjoy dark / dead dove themes, explicit content, nsfw, unhealthy/toxic dynamics, and more elements that I’d like to discuss privately!

* prefer the pairing MxF (with me playing as the F role)

Hello everyone! Not a very well-written ad, but submitting it nevertheless. I have over a decade of active experience in roleplaying as well as writing independently, though I have a strong preference for collaborating with others and creating stories filled with twists, depth and intrigue. I write 500-600 words minimum, as I enjoy incorporating purple prose, meaning plenty of description and detail, and I have no maximum word count nor an average length as I love to adapt to my partner and will go as far as 3k. I write only on discord since the server organization there is a godsend, and I’d never miss an opportunity to gush over our characters, spend hours on finding aesthetic pictures and making moodboards, oc playlists, all that.

Right now, there are two original prompts I’m looking to explore. Keep in mind that both will contain dark, disturbing, and uncomfortable themes that might not be for everyone, to put it simply, but if either of these sounds like something you’d be interested in, don’t hesitate to like this ask and I’ll reach out to you!

1. Character A is a genius (aka psychopath)—so much so, that his intelligence, academic excellence, and the psychopathic traits of his behavior have made him an outcast and victim of severe bullying. As much as he’s smart, he has never been physically strong enough to defend himself or fight back… until Character B comes into the picture: a rough, tattooed, headstrong delinquent, whom witnesses the bullying one day and saves him. From then on, they slowly develop a friendship as he helps her study properly and pass her tests and, in exchange, she doesn’t let anyone lay a hand on him, and though Character B has only ever viewed him as a friend, Character A’s feelings grow into something more. Eventually they graduate, and due to circumstances, lose contact as life takes them on very different paths… until some years later, where they meet again. How do they reunite? Does Character B apply for a job at Character A’s business, never expecting to be hired or for him to turn out to be the chairman/boss? Does Character A find her by coincidence, working some shitty job at a gas station? Either way, the moment Character A sees her again, the old infatuation he’d felt comes crashing back, and at first, he’s determined to repay her for everything she had done for him in the past and perhaps even rekindle their friendship. But then… How dare she not be grateful? How dare she resist everything he’s trying to give her, to do for her? His obsession becomes sick, disturbing, and as their dynamic starts to shift into something much darker, he decides he’s never going to let her go again. [I would like to play Character B in this scenario]

2. Character A and Character B grew up in the same orphanage, and were close friends despite being complete opposites. Whilst Character A was quickly adopted by a wonderful couple, thrived in school, and was overall the golden child, Character B always caused trouble and was never wanted by anyone due to his problematic behavior. Eventually, as they grew older, they began to go down different routes, with Character A getting a scholarship and Character B getting involved with gangs, crime, etc. They lose contact, or rather Character A purposely cuts off all connection to him as she realizes that he is no longer the kid she used to know, and so years pass following her disappearance from his life. She graduates, gets married/engaged, has a great job, great friends.. her life is pretty much perfect, until she begins to get strange texts from an unknown number, gifts, things in her house misplaced, an unfamiliar car waiting outside her house at late hours of the night, the feeling of being watched and followed.. is it Character B? [I would like to play Character A in this scenario]

None of the details are set in stone and can be changed or altered to your preference, and I can’t wait to hear your ideas. Minors DNI! ❤️

Like this post and the asker will reach out!

[paranormalrealism]

INTERVIEW Amanda King

Orville: How long have you been writing?

Amanda: I've loved writing as long as I've loved reading, so going on about 3 decades now, lol. But I only started to get serious about writing about 4 years ago.

Orville: What got you interested in writing?

Amanda:  Hard to say. I've always considered myself a creative person and I'm an avid reader. I guess ultimately it's the escapism fiction provides. Writing permits me to delve deeper into a fantastical world than I can ever get simply from reading. I just have to hope other readers will enjoy my worlds as much as I do.

Orville: How many books do you have published?

Amanda: I just have the one out right now. My other writing projects are on hold while I finish revising my first full-length novel.

Orville: Are your books self-published or traditionally published?

Amanda: My current book is self-published through Amazon, but I hope to publish my current WIP traditionally.

Orville: Where can the reader find your books (include a link)?

Amanda: Paperback and eBook editions are available through most Amazon marketplaces. May 2023 I'm going to look at options for broadening the distribution, but for now people can find it here:

https://amazon.com/Souls-Broken-Damned-Twisted-Tales-ebook/dp/B09RZF1HZM/ref=mp_s_a_1_1crid=3HDKRGL3UVN9Y&keywords=souls+of+the+broken+and+the+damned&qid=1656166481&sprefix=souls+of+the+broken+and+the+damned+%2Caps%2C188&sr=8-1

Orville: Are you a plotter or pantser?

Amanda: Now that I'm completing my first novel, I'm embracing the mantle of plotter. So far as idea generation and first drafts go, I tend toward pantsing. But once I have a clear idea of the story I want to tell, it works better for me to at least roughly plot it out.

 Orville: What are your hobbies outside of writing?

Amanda: I have too many! Hiking, motorcycling, mechanics, robotics and app development, economics and investing to name a few. Admittedly I'm a bit of a workaholic though, so as many interests as I have, I spend most of my free time reading, writing, or otherwise developing my craft.

Orville: Who was the greatest influence in your writing career?

Amanda: To date, another author Holly Lisle @hollylisle . It was the podcast her and her daughter Rebecca Galardo @rebeccagalardo  hosted (Alone in a Room with Invisible People  @aiarwip ) that gave me the confidence to take writing seriously. I continue to benefit from her writing classes and the amazing writing community she's built.

Orville: What genre do you write?

Amanda: Dark speculative fiction, generally along the lines of urban fantasy, or supernatural thriller/suspense.  I'm hesitant to say horror, but my work is not for kids or the faint of heart. I generally avoid graphic descriptions of gore, but there are few sensitive topics I will shy away from. I'm also not into writing high fantasy or hard sci-fi.

Orville: What are your book titles?

Amanda: Souls of the Broken and the Damned. Subscribers to my monthly newsletter also have exclusive access to "Tempting Ride," a flash story that won't be available to anyone other than my subscribers until I publish my next anthology.

Orville: Is your work on Kindle Unlimited?

Amanda: Yes. That may change May 2023, but for now, yes it is.

Orville: What are you currently working on (when will it be available)?

Amanda: My current WIP is a supernatural thriller. I'm staying fairly close lipped about it because I do want to try and go the traditional publishing route with it, but at its core, it's a love story between a psychopath and a young woman trying to understand her power. I hope to be querying agents next summer, so it’ll be a while before it's out.

Orville: Who is your target audience?

Amanda: Those who see beauty in the darkness, root for the villain, and love an antihero. 18+!

Orville: What advice would you give a young person planning a writing career?

Amanda: If you love it, pursue it relentlessly and ignore any who say it's pointless. But it takes time, and dedication to find success.

Orville: Is there anything else you would like to share with your readers?

Amanda: I issue a monthly newsletter with the most informative news about my projects, book recommendations, discounts, etc. http://ak-king.com/subscribe

I'm also on Facebook, TikTok and Instagram at either @AKKingAuthor

or @AKKing_Author, but Twitter is where I'm presently most active.

If folks are interested, I also gave an interview to @gobbldgook on his podcast Between the Lines with Randy Lacey (S.1 E.13) available on most podcast platforms including Spotify

[batsandbugs]

The Great IKEA Game

Chapter 11: Playing the Game

AN: I hope y'all enjoy this non-stop flirt-a-thon, chapter count got increased again, so we'll get back to the plot in the next chapter!

At first, Marinette didn’t know how to act. This was the last route she expected Damian to take. The shock of Damian’s lips against hers turned her body rigid; hands splayed out to the sides, unsure of where to touch. After a second of floundering, she gained enough bearing to place her hands firmly on Damian’s arms. Her once still lips hesitantly moving against his. The closed-mouth kiss stayed chaste, but Marinette found herself fluttering her eyes closed, sinking into the warmth.

Damian stood taller than her, bending into the kiss while she craned her neck. Marinette pushed herself upward, arching onto the tips of her toes, and Damian’s hands wrapped tighter around her waist, deepening the kiss. She readjusted her mouth for a second grabbing a quick gasp of air before diving in again with more fervor. Damian responded in kind, pushing her back fully against the wall, one hand migrating from her waist to cup her cheek.

Damn. Damian was a good kisser.

“What the- Hey, customers are not allowed to be in here!”

Oh, right. The employee. That’s why they were kissing.

Why would kissing be helpful in this situation?

Not that Marinette was complaining, but-

Damian pulled away from her, and Marinette held back a pitiful whine when he turned away and faced the employee.

‘Bad thoughts, Marinette,’ she chided herself. ‘Focus on the mission, not Damian, or his lips, or his eyes, or-’

“Oh, sorry ‘bout that,” said Damian with a bashful smile.

Wait…

Blink.

What?

Marinette dragged herself out of the kiss-induced bliss, focusing on her co-conspirator, and had she been less in control of herself her jaw would have dropped.

Damian’s whole demeanor had markedly changed. His normal sharp posture sunk into a causal slouch; the emotions on his face, generally a mix of sharp observation or practiced disdain, now a mix of charming elegance and, yes, bashfulness. He flashed a wide grin at the oncoming employee, a person in their early twenties, who froze when they saw them.

Or rather, Damian.

Rapidly blinking bright blue eyes gazed at them. “Oh, oh you- you’re-”

“Yeah, yeah, we all know who I am,” said Damian, rubbing the back of his neck. Even the way he spoke changed; careful pronunciation and formality thrown out the window for a lax New Jersian drawl. “What’s your name?” He asked with such a genuine smile, had Marinette not been versed in people lying through their teeth, she would have bought it.

Not for the first time, Marinette wondered how famous Damian’s family was – obviously rich enough, and high profile enough - to be recognized on the spot.

The person paused for a moment, fiddling with a strand of curly blond hair. “I’m- I’m ah… Fey, nice to meet you Mr.-”

Damian cut them off with a laugh. “Oh please, any name with a mister makes me think of my father or my older brother. Call me Dami.” He offered a hand to the flustered Fey. They limply shook it.

“Oh… ah- alright Dami.”

Damian encircled a hand around Marinette’s waist dragging her out of the weirdness induced fugue state she’d fallen into. “And this… well,” he lowered his eyes, catching her attention and winked. “This is my girlfriend Marinette.”

Fuck, this is what he meant by play along.

Fey dropped open their mouth before closing it quickly.

“Oh, I hadn’t read-”

Damian cut the flustered employee off again.

“We’ve kept it quiet.” He waved his hand dismissively. “The papers would devour a story like this,” he said, with a sense of vapid annoyance, although a trace of his normal calculated disdain accented his words.

Note to self; Damian didn’t like the media. Good, Marinette didn’t much like the invasive vultures either.

Fey nodded along, twirling a lock of hair on their finger. “Oh yeah, that totally makes sense.” They paused shaking their head to clear away an emotion… awe? Fear? Marinette couldn’t tell. “But uh, why are you here? Like in the stairwell, not in the store. Because of course celebrities would still shop, right? I mean-” Poor Fey was a stuttering mess. Marinette almost felt bad for them.

She felt like an absolute stuttering mess too, but she would be damned if Damian would carry this lie all by himself.

She was fucking Ladybug; savior of Paris, Guardian of the Miraculous.

She could act like a lovestruck fool.

“It iz so sweet,” she said, emphasizing her accent to add a little more pageantry to this entire scheme. “I just arrived back from Paris, and wanted to decorate my new apartment with ze ah-” she waved her hands around, “Oh, how you Americans put it? Fairy lights?”

Fey nodded quickly. “Yeah, we have a couple of good selections, but-” Marinette continued before they could logic their way out of the made-up cover story.

“I planned to go by myself, but Dami-” at this she moved forward to wrap her arms around his, leaning into his side. The warmth of his body bleeding through his clothes. “He insisted on ‘companying me even though he dozen’t like ze crowds.” She leaned forward with a conspiratorial air. “He gets grumpy,” she divulged with a girlish giggle. Why Damian did a 180 on his personality was a complete mystery, but if he dropped the act, this would make Fey less suspicious.

Fey nodded right along like Marinette’s comment made total sense. “Yeah, I don’t read too many magazines, but damn they must pin you all wrong,” they said to Damian. From Marinette’s position at his side, she felt his body tense the slightest amount. “Gotham’s Ice Prince, yeah right.”

Marinette inwardly quirked an eyebrow. ‘Ice Prince, huh?’ The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on where she’d heard it before.

Damian nervously chuckled again, sounding more authentic this time. “Oh no, I’m a grump when it comes to the media, I fully admit. My, ah,” he looked at her again, an apology flashing in his green eyes. “Angel here puts me in a better mood.”

A rushing noise filled Marinette’s ears, and her heart quickened. She vaguely registered a squeal of delight coming from Fey, but it sounded far away compared to her blood pounding at a thunderous level. Heat flushed in her cheeks, and the confident smile she plastered on her face almost dropped at the pet name.

Angel.

He called her angel.

What level of utter insanity had she dropped into?

“A few disguises later,” Damian continued, adjusting the glasses on his face, and oblivious of the turmoil he’d created in Marinette’s mind. “I thought we’d be able to stay under the radar, I just wanted a day out with my girlfriend,” he said with a put-upon sigh. The emotional, charming actions stood in complete opposite to Damian’s normal demeanor.

Marinette found herself desperately torn between breaking down laughing hysterically or clapping at Damian’s masterful performance.

“You got noticed?” asked Fey.

“We got noticed.” Damian sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. Marinette regretted not touching it while she and Damian kissed; was it as fluffy as it looked? “And Marinette, the sweet angel she is, isn’t used to the whole utter insanity of… you know, dating a celebrity.” He glanced at her, teasing her with a fonder smirk than his usual. Marinette wanted to roll her eyes. Damian had no clue she knew very well the consequences of dating a celebrity.

Never mind she’d only dated Adrian a month before they broke up because his dad turned out to be a psychopathic supervillain intent on plunging the whole of France into an apocalyptic hellscape in an attempt to upset the universes’ balance, and was fully okay with killing the both of them to make it happen.

Being friends after that little debacle was the better option. For both their sanities.

‘Focus Marinette.’ She dragged her attention back to the conversation.

“We kinda ducked in here when nobody was paying attention. I want to keep this away from the media as long as possible, for my angel’s privacy.” Marinette wanted to scoff at how Damian leaned into that nickname. He certainly was laying it on thick. Marinette wouldn’t have bought the act, but that was due to her years of lying and deceiving in the name of super-heroics.

Fey, with their eager demeanor and bright blue eyes, didn’t stand a chance.

“Oh, that’s awful people wouldn’t leave you alone. I bet most celebrities would be familiar with the attention, but for you to look out for Marinette too?” They whistled. “Damn girl, he’s a keeper for sure.”

The blush gracing Marinette’s cheeks was 100% real. “Oh, well, ah, zank you. I know.”

“Well, no one will hear a word from me,” Fey promised. They fiddled with their hands and sent a shy smile at Damian. Marinette’s stomach clenched at the sight, and without her permission, her traitorous hands tightened their grip on Damian’s arm. “Without your family’s scholarship, my sister never would have graduated med school. She would kill me if I even thought of ratting you out to the papers.”

“Oh…” said Damian, his outward appearance of shock mirroring Marinette’s own internal emotions.

‘His family is rich enough to fund medical scholarships?’

“Well, that’s not on me directly, you know,” he commented. “All my father’s doing. I hope- ah… I hope she’s doing well?” Although his face portrayed a bashful and relaxed air, his body language screamed uncomfortableness. Marinette released one hand from his arm and brought it to rest on the small of his back, circling her thumb around. He relaxed, slightly, and Marinette smiled.

“Yeah, actually she is,” said Fey beaming. “She’s working at the new pediatric clinic that opened in Crime Alley.”

“Good for her,” said Damian honestly. “We need more people willing to work to make the city a better place. Money can only do so much.”

“Money definitely helps though,” Fey replied, wryly. Marinette agreed. Long-buried memories of her early years arose. Living above her parents’ shop, where every month they spread their bills across the kitchen table and talked in hushed tones while Marinette sat on the steps to her attic room and worried, even if at five and six she didn’t know what she was worried about.

Those days were long gone. Her parents and their creations internationally famous, with three separate locations across the greater Paris metro alone. But that worry never really went away.

Fey shifted on their feet reading their watch. “Well, you guys stay here if you want until whatever crowd out there loses interest.” They gestured to the door Marinette and Damian entered through. “Or you can come with me if you want?” Pointing to the other locked door. “I’m heading out to the atrium to deal with a problem, but you can continue on with your shopping.”

“Zank you so much,” Marinette replied. “We will go with you if you do not mind?”

“Of course not,” said Fey, walking to the door and pulling out a security key. They opened the door, but Damian held it allowing Marinette and Fey to walk through before he followed. Placing a hand once more around Marinette’s waist.

“What problem in the atrium, if you don’t mind me asking?” he prodded, sharing a look with Marinette.

It could be nothing, but it could also have something to do with his brothers.

Considering their luck today, Marinette would be shocked if it wasn’t the latter option.

“Oh, well it started with the children’s center shutting down. Apparently, the kids got it in their minds to start a dodge ball fight with the workers. Which, you know, totally fair,” confided Fey, as they walked through the back corridors. “Sounded like it was a blast to watch. I was such a shit when I was a kid, I would have joined them in a heartbeat. It wrapped up fairly quickly, but they can’t convince the main instigator to descend from the jungle gym. I think they’re still hunting down her parents.”

Marinette pursed her lips trying to hold back a smile. ‘Oh, Abby,’ she thought, ‘you absolute gem.’

“I only heard about it from Lisa when I got back because I was dealing with a security issue in the back lot.” Fey glanced at them nervously. “Not that there’s anything wrong, we’re perfectly safe.”

Marinette and Damian shared a look.

Jason.

“Of course,” said Marinette.

Followed by a quick, “Absolutely,” from Damian.

Fey relaxed. “So this is, apparently, a whole bunch of workers on strike? They walked out of the back warehouse and congregated in the atrium, spouting on about living wages and corrupt big business, and the effects of verbal abuse in the workplace.” Fey said with a wave of their arms. “And it’s not like I don’t agree, because I do. Jerry, the warehouse general manager, is an asshole.” Marinette and Damian exchange worried glances at the rotund angry man’s name, who they last saw dragging a singed Tim into an office.

“…but it makes my job hard,” whined Fey, oblivious to their compatriot’s inner panic. “And the Starbucks baristas joined them, so their kiosk closed too.” Fey chuckled, “I would avoid the whole area if I were you, especially if you don’t want anyone finding out you’re together.”

“I wonder how zat ended up happening?” Marinette asked hopefully her high-pitched voice conveyed confusion instead of slowly settling in panic.

“They called in saying some guy lead the charge, he’s worked the crowd into a fervor. I’m there to be the HR rep while security tries to remove him. You know, normally my job involves sitting at a desk all day listening to bitchy customers on the phone. I’ve dealt with more in-store problems today since last Black Friday.” Fey chuckled. “What a day, ya’ know?”

Marinette glanced at Damian, his casual mask still firmly in place, although his left eye twitched, and the hand he wrapped around her waist, tightened at Fey’s words.

Fey finally reached another door, pulling out their pass and lead them out into the store’s main section.

“Well, it was nice to meet you Marinette, Dami,” Fey chirped. “Nobody will hear from me about any of this.” They mimed zipping their lips.

Marinette smiled, hoping the strain wasn’t too noticeable. “It waz nice to meet you too Fey.”

“Good luck with whatever is happening in the atrium,” said Damian. They stood at the door and watched them move out of sight. When Fey finally disappeared around a corner, Damian turned to Marinette his casual persona rippling away as if it never existed at all. His hand slipped off her waist.

She did not, absolutely not, want to grab it and put it back thank you very much.

“How much do you wish to wager on Drake’s involvement in whatever is occurring in the atrium?” he asked. Marinette smiled, reassured at the return of his clipped and formal tone. The informal speech felt wrong coming from Damian’s mouth.

“Oh, I don’t know Dami?” she teased. Then again, she couldn’t let this opportunity pass by her. “I don’t think I have enough money for that bet with you.”

Damian closed his eyes with a grimace and sigh. “Do not call me that.” He opened his eyes, an expression just short of pleading radiated from them “Please.”

“I would rather gag, and it sounds so would you.” Marinette covered her grin with her hand, unable to stop a slight giggle at the man’s long-suffering tone. “You pulled off vapid lovesick celebrity well, but why the need to act at all?”

“I have plenty of reference to draw from,” he grumbled, piquing Marinette’s interest; every half aside comment enticing her to dig further at Damian’s life. “I needed whoever descended those steps on our side and my normal... demeanor tends to put people off.” He folded his hands behind his back, a perfect picture of casualness, but the tightness around his eyes and the twitch of his mouth was all Marinette needed to note his self-consciousness.

“Well, I for one find your usual self charming,” Marinette admitted, pleased when Damian relaxed at her words. “You freaked me out acting that weird.”

“It is not an option I use often,” Damian admitted. “My brothers tend to make big productions of themselves. I prefer a far subtler approach, but this required more theatrics to make it believable.” He glanced at her. “I hope…” he paused. She watched his hand flutter and turn into a fist at his side. “I hope I did not overstep your bounds, that is, I mean violate your...” Damian refused to look at her, his gaze firmly planted on a far wall.

Marinette could let the poor man continue but ended up taking pity on him before he dug an even deeper hole. She placed a hand on his arm. “You were fine. If I didn’t want you… kissing me,” she said the words out loud for the first time, reigning in a pleasurable shudder at the memory. “I would have pushed you off, and if I felt violated, which I didn’t, you would have found yourself on the ground in plenty of pain.”

Damian dragged his gaze back to hers, a small smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. “Undoubtedly, yes, you easily could have done so.”

Marinette smirked again, not willing to let the entire debacle slip away quite yet though. “Although I have to ask, where in the world did angel come from? And what on earth made you think it would be a good nickname for our fake relationship?”

Damian lifted his nose haughtily. “It is a perfectly acceptable name of affection for a significant other. What, did you wish for ‘sweetheart’ or ‘doll’?” he asked, drawing out those names with the earlier casual New Jersian accent. Marinette withheld a shiver at his low tone of voice curling those words around his tongue. She may prefer his normal speech, but damn he still sounded unbearably attractive when he dropped that low.

‘Focus, Marinette. FOCUS!’ she inwardly screamed at herself.

“Goodness no,” said Marinette, forcing a pretend shudder. “Something with more class perhaps? Darling, or beloved?”

Damian pursed his lips. “Not beloved. That’s what my mother refers to my father with.” Marinette winced, yeah, that could be awkward. Not that this whole conversation wasn’t a disaster plucked out of a fever dream. Why, why was she debating Damian on the finer points of affectionate nickname giving?

But her mouth continued talking. “Alright, I suppose angel isn’t bad in comparison. Still, it’s a bit cliché. What does that make you? A demon?”

Damian tilted his head with a shrug. “Tt. My brothers do call me that on occasion, yes.” Oh right, Jason called him demon-spawn a few times during their confrontation. With the way Damian rolled his eyes in annoyance, Marinette figured a story lurked behind that particular nickname.

“Regardless, we have strayed dangerously off-topic here. We should head towards the pandemonium in the atrium, yes?” Damian pushed off the wall he’d leaned against, and Marinette followed.

“I thought it was Panic at the Disco?” Marinette teased with a grin.

Damian pointed a finger at her, trying for a stern expression, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement. “You think yourself terribly clever, don’t you?”

“I think I’m adorable,” she shot back. “But I also think you’re right. It sounds like Tim managed to involve himself. If he’s making a scene, I bet he’ll draw the rest of your brothers there too.”

“You think Grayson will escape the clutches of that ravenous she-wolf?”

Marinette scoffed. “Damian, you’ll insult wolves with that comparison. I thought she resembled more of a hyena myself.” The woman certainly shrieked enough for it. “From what I saw, your brother probably ducked out at the first opportunity available to him.”

“True. Which leaves Todd, and nothing attracts his attention more than a spectacle. Especially when Drake stands chance to make a fool of himself.” Turning a corner they found themselves several yards away from the open-aired atrium. A crowd of people lingered around the railing looking into the courtyard below. Clapping and cheers fill the air.

“Shall we?” asked Marinette, excitement brewing in her chest.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” grumbled Damian. “But I suppose we must.”

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[ragingbookdragon]

If All Of The Kings Had Their Queens On The Throne

Batsis x Ghost-Maker One-Shot

Word Count: 4K Warnings: Explicit Language, Slight Angst, Mature Themes

Author's Note: This is a direct continuation of the previous fic! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

When the door to The Haunt didn’t immediately open, she frowned and clicked the button. “Hey! Lemme in!”

For a moment, there was nothing, then she heard, “Apologies Miss Wayne. Ghost-Maker is busy training. Shall I alert him?”

She sighed. “Nah, just let me in and I’ll get him.”

“Of course.”

The doors split open, and she walked into the base, immediately rolling her eyes at the colors, or better yet the lack of color at all. She had no idea what spurred him to pick white as one of the main colors in everything he wore and used, but God if it didn’t make him look like a psychopath. A snort passed her lips at her little joke, and she wandered around the desk setup and through one of the curtained areas until she heard boxing gloves meeting a punching bag.

Gently tugging the curtain aside, she paused, leaning against the doorway, and watched his back. He was shirtless and had headphones in, as he usually was and did when he trained alone, and his muscles rippled each time he threw a powerful strike. She couldn’t help but watch him; he’d always been so diligent when it came to his training, and if she hadn’t known him better than she did, she would’ve assumed all he did was train. She was very fond of it though. Very fond of him.

“You going to stand there or are you going to get a set of gloves and spar with me?”

She shook herself from her thoughts to see him rounding the bag, throwing a devastating kick; she snorted. “No thanks, Ghost. I just got over having a cracked skull.” Walking over, she neared the space, but stayed just far enough that she wouldn’t get struck.

“I’m actually here to invite you over to the manor tonight.” She said, watching as his eyes flitted to hers behind the mask. “I take it you know.”

“About the little pool party Bruce throws for everyone? Yes. I keep hearing about it over the Ghost-Net.”

She smiled. “It’s a lot of fun, Ghost. You’d have fun.”

He scoffed. “What? Being surrounded by every single hero this side of the galaxy? No thank you, (Y/N). I’d rather not.”

Rolling her eyes, she grabbed the punching bag and held it, looking at him. “You’re not going to make any friends if you spend all your time cooped up in here.”

“I’m not looking to make friends,” he retorted, throwing another punch that sent shock-waves through her arms to her core. “I’m here to clean up Gotham.”

(Y/N) gazed at him. “Sure I can’t persuade you?”

“Positive.”

She shrugged. “Then you leave me no choice.” Leveling him with a strong expression, she warned, “As the newest member of the Batfamily, you have to attend the pool party. It’s tradition and anyone who doesn’t, has to take patrol routes for everyone for a month straight.”

Ghost-Maker stopped dead in his tracks and looked at her. “You’re lying.”

(Y/N) sucked in a breath dramatically, “Ghost, I never lie.” She looked to the ceiling. “Icon, run the conversations from my phone named, ‘Bat-Chat’ and tell him I’m not lying.”

After a moment, the AI’s voice came over, clear and positive. “Miss Wayne is correct, sir. Record texts have shown that those who do not attend the parties thrown by the family for the other superheroes are subject to various torture techniques.”

“What!” (Y/N) shouted. “No, we don’t!”

“You said on June eighth that your brother Timothy Jackson Drake was going to be swirlied for missing the party.”

She sputtered. “I was joking! We don’t swirly each other. We just force our patrol routes on each other.” (Y/N) glanced at Ghost-Maker. “If you don’t come, you’re going to take patrol from me, Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Steph, Duke, and Damian. You really wanna patrol all month by yourself? All that territory? Think of the time and energy it’ll take, Ghost.”

Ghost-Maker stared her down for a minute, mulling over his choices, then he finally sighed, resigned to his fate. “Fine. I’ll come over tonight.”

(Y/N) grinned. “Nope, you gotta get ready now. We’re arriving together.”

“You annoy me.” He griped, bypassing her to the doorway, and she followed him towards the stairs and to his bedroom where he entered the bathroom and got in the shower. She waited on the bed, gazing around his room while he showered.

“Who all is attending this party? That you know for sure.”

(Y/N) blinked, taking a moment to think. “Uh, all of the Justice League, the Titans and Teen Titans, the Outlaws, a few Green Lanterns…and probably a few anti-heroes but we’ll see.” She shrugged. “So pretty much everyone we interact with on a normal basis.”

“I heard Harley is coming too.”

“Yeah, she’s technically part of the family at this point.” (Y/N) said. “She’d be upset if we didn’t invite her over.”

Ghost-Maker stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist and she stood from the bed, wandering in behind him as he lathered his face in shaving cream.

“Trying to show out in front of everyone, Ghost?” she joked, leaving back against the door-frame of the small cabinet behind them.

“Bruce doesn’t keep himself kempt all the time. I do,” he remarked, flicking out the straight razor; he raised it to his jaw, and she hummed warningly, causing his brown eyes to meet hers in the mirror. “What?”

(Y/N) shook her head. “I’m just worried you’ll cut yourself.”

“I’ve been shaving my face since I was fifteen, (Y/N).”

“So that scar on your cheekbone isn’t from cutting yourself?”

He gazed at her. “You know why I have that scar.”

“I do.” She answered, then leaned away from the wall, shifting until she was sitting on the bathroom counter in front of him. Taking the razor, she tilted his chin up and carefully, scraped it down his cheek before rinsing it. “I gave it to you when you called me a coward.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to hit me that hard.” Ghost-Maker replied, coffee eyes focused on her face; she felt exposed under his knowing gaze.

She chuckled. “I think that was the first time I really surprised you that I wasn’t just my brother’s twin sister following him around to make sure he was safe.”

“You can’t blame me for thinking you were. You never joined in the training.”

“I learned better watching then doing.” (Y/N) rinsed the razor and tipped his head back as she drug the instrument down the exposed skin of his throat. “Most people are fearful when someone holds a razor to their neck,” she murmured, carefully shaving his Adam’s apple.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

Her hands stilled ever so slightly as she gaped at him. Normally he would’ve said, “I don’t feel fear” but now he said he wasn’t afraid of her. She wanted to hope it was because of what had occurred the last month, her confessing her feelings, him replying that he couldn’t love her like she did him—he’d not totally ruled out caring for her, at least that’s what she saw his words being. They’d not talked about it more than that night, merely going back to work, but she could tell that Ghost-Maker’s demeanor towards her had changed a minute amount. He watched her more. Was…softer with her.

(Y/N) smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.” She rinsed the razor and looked over his face for a moment, then she grabbed the towel and wet it, gently brushing over the shaving cream still on his face. Patting his face dry, she nodded. “Looks good. No nicks.”

“Thank you,” he approved, but didn’t move, keeping his eyes on her and she couldn’t help but look down, suddenly nervous under his gaze.

Her eyes widened when she saw the expanse of his chest though and she reached up, fingers delicately tracing a jagged and raised scar in the middle of his chest. Even healed it looked angry and a bolt of sadness hit her in the heart.

“You’re sad.” He noted. For a psychopath who didn’t feel empathy, he was actually good at discerning when people felt sad—or maybe it was just because he’d known her so long.

(Y/N) nodded, whispering, “There aren’t many scars on mine and Bruce’s bodies that look like this one.” Her fingers moved to one on the right side of his ribs and she frowned. “We’ve always had someone to stitch us up, or we did it for one another. But I can’t help but wonder…” her eyes met his. “Who did it for you? Who stitched the ones you couldn’t reach and do yourself?”

Her chest hurt. “Who was there for you when I wasn’t?” she leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the center of his chest. He was so warm, and she sighed, willing herself to not tear up. “I’m sorry, K.”

“For what?” he questioned, a hand coming up behind her, palm resting against the back of her neck.

“For leaving you behind,” (Y/N) answered, deciding then to wrap her arms around his waist, turning her face so her cheek rested to his chest. “I should’ve stayed with you.”

Ghost-Maker made a noise in his throat, and she wasn’t sure if it was agreement or bitterness. “And if you had, you wouldn’t have raised your family.”

She sighed. “Yeah…I know…but even during that time I couldn’t help but wonder how your journey was going. How you and your tech were evolving throughout the years.” (Y/N) pulled back slightly and looked at him. “I used to imagine what it’d be like to be there with you. To fight beside you. To live out your dream with you.”

His hand shifted from the back of her neck to cup her cheek and he tilted her head up, leaning down to kiss her. She closed her eyes, arms shifting from around his waist to wrap around his neck and his free hand gripped her waist, pulling her against him. Ghost-Maker shifted, pressing his lips to the underside of her jaw as his fingers dipped under her thigh, pulling it up until (Y/N) got the hint to cock it around his hip.

“K,” she breathed as he sunk his teeth into her neck, biting hard enough that it had her inhaling sharply, fingers twisting in the dark hair at the nape of his neck. She felt him smile against her skin.

“What do you want?” he asked, pressing surprisingly gentle kisses to where he’d bit as the hand that was on her cheek lowered to push up the blouse that stopped at her waist. His fingers dipped underneath, rubbing against her skin and he asked again, this time firmer, “(Y/N), what do you want?”

Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she could barely think, could barely form words. “I—”

A shrill beeping startled the two of them, well, her more than him, and she finally got herself to breathe. “That’s Bruce calling.” She uncurled one of her hands from his neck to reach for the phone in her pocket, but he caught it.

“Call him back.” Ghost-Maker said, grabbing a fistful of her blouse, starting to pull up.

(Y/N) shrugged his hand off. “If Bruce’s calling, it means he needs my help.” He pulled away and giving her a look, one she met firmly. “I need to take it.”

They gazed at each other for a moment and then he harrumphed, pulling away from her, and walked from the bathroom to his closest.

She sighed and pulled out her phone, answering it. “Hello?”

Are you on your way yet? The party’s already started and everyone’s asking where you both are.

Clearing her throat, she replied, “Yeah, he’s getting his swim trunks.” She glanced out the doorway. “You own trunks, don’t you, Ghost?”

“Do I somehow give you the impression that I’m incompetent?” he shot back, and she rolled her eyes.

“Ass.” She put the phone back to her ear. “We’ll be there in fifteen.”

Be careful. Love you.

“We will. And I love you too.” She ended the call and hopped off the bathroom counter, flicking off the lights as she walked out, seeing him throwing a bag over his shoulder.

“I’m ready to be bored out of my mind.” He grunted and she rolled her eyes again.

“Oh, shut up. You’re going to have a great time. I promise.”

Ghost-Maker glared at her as he pulled the white and black mask over his eyes and nose. “And how do you know?”

(Y/N) grinned, shoving him in the stomach as she walked past him. “Because I’m going to be there all night.”

***

“See!” she chirped as he sunk into the hot tub. “This isn’t so bad.” She handed him a drink. “Free drinks, laughter, and swimming. Fun, huh?”

He grunted, sipping the margarita she’d given him. “Your family and their friends are loud.”

(Y/N) looked over his head towards the other pool, grinning as her eldest nephew threw her youngest into the pool, then turned and threw his best friend. Laughter peeled from the entire group in the pool.

“Yeah…but that’s how you know they’re having a good time.” Her eyes drifted to Bruce who was fondly watching Jason and Roy grill, occasionally laughing as one of them told a joke. “Feelin’ good, Bruce?”

He took a sip of his brandy, sinking until his shoulders were covered by the running hot water. “Feeling great, (Y/N).” he held out his drink. “Put some ice in there? Please?”

She smiled and pulled her legs out of the hot tub, and really, it wasn’t exactly a hot tub because most were above ground, but Bruce being who he was, had redesigned it so that it and the pool were both in ground and connected.

Taking his glass, she rose and wandered over to the bar where a few of her friends were pouring drinks and chatting. “Hey Clark. Diana. How are you both tonight?”

Diana smiled and raised her wine glass. “I am well, (Y/N). How are you?”

“Can’t complain.” She said. “Clark, put an ice cube in here, would you?”

He did as she asked and dropped one in with the tongs. “I’m still surprised you got Ghost-Maker here. I assumed he wasn’t going to come.”

Her eyes flicked back over to the hot tub, and she watched Bruce tip his head back as he laughed, Ghost-Maker chuckling too; she smiled. “He’d never admit it, but he’s glad he came tonight. Anti-social as he usually is, he likes being included in things.” (Y/N) smiled at them and winked, walking back over.

She took her seat back on the side in the middle between Bruce and Ghost-Maker, handing her brother his brandy. “Clark licked all over the rim of your glass, Bruce. Just letting you know.” Feeling particularly childish, Bruce raised the glass to his lips and licked all around the glass. “You’re a child.” She remarked, then glanced to her side, seeing one of the Green Lanterns coming down the way.

“Kyle!” she greeted. “Join the fray!”

The artist smiled, then looked at the men in the hot tub. “I don’t want to intrude,” he said, and Bruce waved.

“Come on in.”

(Y/N) patted the wall between her legs and Kyle walked down the steps, shifting until his back pressed against the wall and she dropped her legs over his shoulders, fingers carding in his hair. “How’s it been going on Oa?”

He shrugged, sipping his beer. “It’s good. Can’t complain too much about saving the universe.”

She smirked. “Uh huh…and what’s this about you and Soranik?”

Kyle choked a bit on his beer, coughing slightly as she giggled. “It’s uh—complicated.” He tipped his head back, resting on her thighs so he could look up at her. “What about you? How’ve you been?”

(Y/N) sighed wistfully, combing back his hair. “Ain’t nothing changin’ but the weather…and the usual telling off the men in front of you for continually betting each other who can do the more stupid shit.”

At that, Kyle’s head tipped up and he first looked at Bruce, then to Ghost-Maker who merely drank from his margarita. “Uh…who’s that?” he asked quietly, and she snorted.

“Kyle, this is Ghost-Maker. Ghost, this is Kyle Rayner, the torch bearing Green Lantern.” She smushed his cheeks. “Isn’t he adorable?”

Ghost-Maker gave her an amused puff. “He is handsome, I’ll give you that.”

Kyle was glad the water had already flushed his skin because the way the man had flirted had made his cheeks warm. “Thank you.” He glanced back at her. “Is his name…?”

She nodded. “Yeah, he takes anonymity to a whole new level.” She tugged at a strand of his hair. “Did you know that only me, Bruce, and a few others know what he looks like and what his entire name is?”

He blinked in response. “That’s…hardcore secret identity, right there.”

“That’s because he doesn’t have any friends.” (Y/N) shot Ghost-Maker a grin. “But you can call him Ghost for short. It’s easier than the mouthful of Ghost-Maker.” The vigilante in return merely rolled his eyes and sipped his drink. “So, Kyle, have any new graphic novels in the works?”

“I do actually. Haven’t written them down but here’s an idea.” He brought up his hand out of the water and a green flash appeared in everyone’s vision. “See how you like it so far?”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh in disbelief. “This is so cool.” She grabbed the construct comic book and flipped through it. “Who’s the main?”

“Haven’t named her yet. But she’s a transgender, pansexual Native American who solves crimes as a superhero.” His cheeks flushed. “I know it’s ironic because we’re superheroes, but I couldn’t help it, you know?”

She nodded, seemingly impressed. “Figured out which tribe yet?”

“I was thinking possibly Cherokee. Or Mohawk.”

“I’ve got a MTF Kanienʼkehá꞉ka friend who lives in Quebec.” She said. “I’ll give her a call about working with you on this.”

Kyle lit up like the morning sun. “Really, (Y/N)? You’d do that?”

She looked down at him and shifted her thighs a bit, bumping his head. “Of course. You’re one of my best friends.”

“I love you, (Y/N).” he grinned, and she chuckled.

“I love you too, loser.”

Suddenly the speakers thumped, and her head shot up, looking towards Tim and Bart who were giggling. She pointed at them. “HEY! THIS IS NOT AN APPROPRIATE SONG!”

They merely giggled more and suddenly everyone was singing along to the raunchy song, well, the teens and young adults were but not her and the older people.

(Y/N) shoved Kyle off as she got up and ran towards the speakers. “WAP IS NOT AN APPROPRIATE SONG TO PLAY AT A POOL PARTY! THERE ARE CHILDREN PRESENT! TIMOTHY JACKSON, YOU GET BACK HERE WITH THAT IPHONE! TURN IT OFF!”

***

She smiled sweetly at her family and friends passed out in the living room, pillows and blankets thrown everywhere, arms slung over bodies, heads on stomachs and backs. It was nice to see them all so comfortable with each other, so tightly knit; it reminded her of a better time.

Most of the adults had gone home though some had stayed in extra rooms. She was sure that her brother and him had gone down to the cave to have it out just for the hell of it, but she was rather tired and decided to call it a night—though it was actually one am.

Closing the door behind her, she didn’t bother to go shower, planning to do it in the morning as she started stripping. First went the swimsuit cover, then the top and bottoms. She kicked her flip-flops off into the corner of the room and stretched her arms above her head, a quiet groan passing her lips as her joints and bones popped.

As she lowered her hands, a hand clamped around her mouth and another wound around her waist, tugging her back and she gasped against their palm, starting to struggle when she heard them chuckle. The sound, combined with the familiar smell of sandalwood wafting up her nose told her who it was, and they smiled against her ear. “Worried?”

She reached up and yanked his hand from her mouth, hissing, “You’re lucky I didn’t turn around and punch the shit out of you, K.”

“Promises, promises,” he murmured, pressing a kiss behind her ear and she shivered against his chest.

“What are you doing in here? I thought you and Bruce went to go spar?”

Ghost-Maker hummed, the hand around her waist starting to squeeze the flesh of her side. “We did. He said he was tired and went to bed.”

“And you didn’t go home?” her voice kicked up a notch when his other hand slipped from her grip and slid down her front.

“I didn’t want to go home.” He pressed his front against her rear and she gasped, one of her hands coming back to grab at his thigh, digging her nails in to keep him there. He smirked as she ground back against him. “Seems like you don’t want me going home either.”

(Y/N) swallowed thickly. “Something’s up with you tonight. You’re being a lot more…passionate than usual.”

He nipped at her neck, fingers delicately dancing over her abdomen. “I don’t like that Green Lantern friend of yours.”

“Who? Kyle?” she questioned confusedly. “Why?”

“He’s very free with himself towards you.”

At that, it was crystal clear, and she spun in his arms, looking at him, though she had to strain to see his face. “Are you jealous?”

“No.” He griped, though the way his jaw set, told her the truth.

“You are!” she laughed. “You’re jealous that I’m close with other men. That’s adorable.”

Ghost-Maker stared at her for a split moment, then he bent down and grabbed her legs, throwing her over his shoulder. (Y/N)’s gasp turned into a laugh as he marched towards the bed and tossed her onto it, watching as she rolled onto her back and laughed some more at him.

“God, you’re green, K.” she giggled, watching with hooded eyes as he shucked the swim trunks down to his feet and crawled onto the bed.

“I’m not envious of a glow-stick who’s never gotten this far with you.” He countered, grabbing her ankles; he yanked her down the bed and underneath him and she gazed up at him.

“Do you wanna know how many men have gotten this far with me?” (Y/N) challenged and Ghost-Maker stared into her eyes.

“It doesn’t matter how many because once I’m done with you, you won’t remember anyone but me.” He lowered his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her stomach, trailing downwards and she panted in anticipation when,

CRASH!

They started, and this time, he did too, both turning to the door, then to each other.

“What the hell—”

“OH SHIT! SOMEONE PUT OUT THE FIRE!”

(Y/N) grunted. “Oh my God, what did they do?”

“DON’T JUST STAND THERE! OH MY GOD SOMEONE CALL NINE-ONE-ONE! OR THE FIRE DEPARTMENT!”

“AUNT (Y/N)! DAD!”

She rolled out from underneath Ghost-Maker, ignoring his grabbing for her and she hurried to her door, yanking the bathrobe from the hook on the back. Slinging it on, she turned and pointed at the man. “Once I’m done out here, I’m coming back and you’re not going anywhere for a few hours.”

He smirked as he collapsed onto his back, taking himself in his hand. She almost burst into flames at the sight, and he purred, “You might wish to hurry, (Y/N). Wouldn’t want to miss anything.” His words tipped into a groan as his hand shifted along himself, and she scowled at him as she pulled the door open, his erotic frame illuminating in the hall light.

“You’d better watch it, K. We both know how mean I can get when I miss out.”

[skylarmoon71]

Bumblebee x Reader : (Transformers) Chapter 5

So, rather than dealing with the problem like a mature person, you settled for ducking Bumblebee. It was cruel, he did absolutely nothing wrong, but you couldn’t face him. You were going on day five without any kind of communication. It was getting harder because he pretty much knew your schedule. You were positive he picked on it, because he started swinging by in the mornings, which made it that much harder to slip away. 

Hence the reason you were now mopping your school’s hallway. Because of your need to evade the cute Autobot, you’d been coming into classes late almost everyday. You had to take the longer route to school, you couldn’t help that. And it wasn’t like you could explain the situation to your teacher. You ran the mop along the floor slowly, dazing off. 

You missed Bumblebee like crazy. Talking with him, staring at the sky, hugging him. 

You wanted to slap yourself, why did you let something so foolish as a dream dictate everything. 

“I’m done.” you weren’t going to run like a coward anymore. After this, you would march over there and apologize to him, hopefully he still wanted to be your friend. 

“Oh, hello, usually I’m the last one here.” your eyes refocused and you stared at the male now standing in front of you. He was wearing a suit and glasses. He looked like a teacher, but you were almost positive you’d never seen him before. Giving a polite smile you nod, moving to place the mop into the bucket. 

“Yes, a little detention. My fault really. Anyway I was just about to leave. I’m about done.” 

“Leaving so soon (Y/N).” The way he said your name made your hair stand on end. Deciding that maybe this guy was some type of serial killer, you gave a nervous laugh.

“W-Well I should get going, my mom must be wondering where I am right about now.” You didn’t even bother to place the mop back in it’s designated area. You were pretty sure the janitor would prefer you escape a potential psychopath over returning the item. 

“Can’t let you do that sweetie.” He removed the glasses, and you took a step back. The color of his eyes changed to an almost demonic bright red, and your heart nearly stopped when his body started changing into a machine. 

You spun around, taking off in a sprint, there was no doubt that thing was following behind. Blasting out the door, you jumped over the short flight of steps, landing harshly, but still  pushing forward. You picked a random direction, trying your hardest to increase your pace. 

You tried to fight the tears that were now spilling from your eyes, but it was useless, if that thing caught you, you’d be done for. You made another sharp turn, only looking back for a split second to see if it was still following. You couldn’t even recognize the street you were on, your only focus was running as fast and far away as possible. 

When your gaze redirected to the front, you grunted as your body connected full on with the car in front of you. Your body went right against the windshield, and you rolled all the way over the top, the pain running over your body like a wave. Your form crashed to the ground, and you let out a cry of pain, breath heaving as you struggled to get to your feet. It took you a second to realize you’d gotten yourself on an empty street. There was no one around. No one to see, no one to protect you. You were alone, all alone. 

The car before you grew in size, and you looked up, watching the way the robot hovered over you like a dark cloud. There was a sick way in which it leered down at you. 

“I’d never understand why those autobots are so fond of you humans, you’re such useless fragile things. Insignificant. “ Moving just your arm felt like a challenge, so getting your body to stand upright was out of the question. Sobbing, your eyes caught the insignia that was engraved at the bottom of his leg. The pointed edge was a dead give away. 

He was a decepticon.

“Tell me human, where is the base of those Autobots, and maybe I might just spare your life.” you kept your mouth shut, and although you were in excruciating pain, you would have rather died than disclose such information. 

Your silence was all he needed. 

“Very well, I’m going to enjoy tearing your limbs slowly from your body you uneducated ap-” a blast shot out from behind you, hitting him square in his chest. He gasped, stepping back. Turning your head, you swore you’d never been so relieved to see the black and yellow painted vehicle. 

Bumblebee transformed almost instinctively, shooting out and tackling the Decepticon to the floor. The both started wrestling, each making vicious swipes at each other. Bumblebee’s face plate was drawn, and the anger in which he struck the other robot was unlike anything you’d ever seen. He summoned his cannon, grabbing the Decepticon’s neck with one hand as he aimed the cannon with the other. There was no hesitation as he shot the beam, and it took the Decepticon’s head clean off. 

All you could hear was gargled sounds of the words as he dropped the remainder of his body to the floor, uncaring. You were still on the ground, shaking in terror of the events that just transpired right before your eyes. When Bumblebee was sure the threat was dealt with, his body relaxed, and he turned to you. His hands lowered and you could see the weapon retracting, his metal fingers forming back into place. His steps were slow and he knew it was more for you than him. He wanted nothing more than to reach out for you, but the look of horror, even though it wasn’t directed at him, it made him question himself. 

“Bee..” his head dropped. 

“I’m... so sorry (Y/N)..” The words that left him, it made your chest hurt. You couldn’t hold back in your tears. So you cried, right there in the middle of the street. And Bumblebee sat with you, all he could provide was comfort, because no amount of words would truly make you feel any less afraid. 

~~~

Bumblebee had scooped you up into your arms at some point, and honestly, you were a bit disoriented when you woke up in the hospital the very next day. You supposed the strain of it all had caught up, and your body just gave out. Your mother of course freaked out. But after the doctors assured her that all you sustained was a few broken ribs, she seemed to be more at ease. 

She practically slept there, even when the nurse’s tried to get her to get something to eat, she refused to leave your side. Sam and Mikaela showed up, and you were more than grateful. Mikaela managed to get her to take care of herself, and Sam promised to look after you so she could get a shower, and some actual food. Giving you a kiss goodbye, she left. Sam took a seat at the side of your bed, and you sent him an impish smile. 

“You look like shit.” you giggled at that. “Wow Sam, way to make a girl feel good.” He was smiling, and he took your hand, looking down at his feet. You could see the guilt on his face. 

“This is my fault.” 

“Come on, are you for real right now. Please. I just spent hours convincing my mom that nothing she did could have prevented what happened. She thinks it was just a car accident, and I hope it stays that way.” 

He sighed. “If I never told you about any of this, you’d be safe. If Optimus didn’t warn us about the interference, who knows what could have gone down. (Y/N) you were almost killed, just for knowing about this, about them. I never should have-”

“Stop it!” your yell startled him.

“No one forced you to tell me anything, it was my decision to go into those woods that day, and I regret nothing Sam. Absolutely nothing.” 

“(Y/N).” 

“I’m serious. When I found out, I knew it wasn’t danger free. I’m not going to lie, when it came at me I was..” you squeezed his hand. 

“I was petrified. I really thought that..that I was going to die there, alone. “ A single tear ran down the side of your cheek, and you swallowed to prevent your voice from breaking. 

“I understand all the risks that come with this friendship, and even so, I’d never trade it. Not for anything. “ 

It meant more to him that you realized that you felt that way. 

“But Sam, just promise me that, if anything like this ever happens again. Please...just keep my mom safe.” 

“(Y/N), nothing like this is going to happen again we’re ready this time an-” 

“Sam!” he froze, and the way you looked, he could tell that you’d calculated it all. All the possibilities of disaster.

“Promise me.” you begged. 

He let out a staggered breath, covering your hands with his. 

“I promise.” 

That was all you needed. Nothing else mattered.  

[mortimer-writes-sometimes]

Alrighty, so this is an idea I've been having about the bartender for a while: if you remember sans' workshop, I actually thought about the idea of sans being gone, and grillby finding the key and beginning to explore the skeletons' past.

Just a random idea, and I also love how you write your stories, I can literally imagine the scenario happening❤.

Oh, I really like this one! I hope you don’t mind that I went in the angst direction with this. It turned out to be a little long and might not have been exactly what you were looking for, but I hope you like it anyway! Also thank you so much for the compliment, I’m thrilled that you can enjoy it.

I Never Knew You. I Never Will.

Word count: 2951 Warnings: Genocide route and all that entails Summary: Grillby can’t find Sans after the evacuation. When he finds himself in Sans’s lab, his world comes crashing down around him.

Preface: This takes place near the end of a genocide run. The remaining monsters have been evacuated to the True Lab by Dr. Alphys. Determined to avenge his brother, Sans left the safety of the lab to judge Frisk.

Grillby felt like he was floating as he made his way through the crowd of monsters around him. This had to be a nightmare. It couldn’t be real. He watched from outside himself as he searched the crowd for familiar faces, stumbling as he was pushed aside by a monster rushing to greet their spouse. People were calling out for each other, sobbing as they found their family members or wailing as they realized their children hadn’t made it. It couldn’t be real.

It couldn’t be.

He couldn’t see any of the Snowdin guards. Where were they?

No, he couldn’t understand, this wasn’t real.

He couldn’t find his niece. He heard someone screaming her name above the crowd and realized it was him. Where was she? Where were Grillby’s brothers, his parents? He hadn’t seen them in so long. They had to be okay.

It wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be real.

It was.

Reality came crashing down. Grillby snapped back into awareness and choked, sickened by the lingering smell of dust as sheer panic gripped him. His friends were dead. His family was dead. They’d been fine just yesterday, how could they be dead? What kind of monster- no, what thing could do this? He struggled to breathe as he felt his whole body seizing up. It was all he could do not to puke, head spinning as he leaned against the nearest wall. He couldn’t breathe, his vision was spotty, was he dying? Was this what it felt like, for your soul to break apart?

Grillby sank to his knees, trails of steam pouring from the corners of his eyes as he sobbed. Everyone he loved was dead.

No. Wait. He was forgetting someone.

Where was Sans?

The fire elemental jerked his head up, frantically scanning the crowd. Sans had been the one to come for him and tell him to evacuate to Hotland. He’d taken Grillby’s hand and told him there was no time to explain. They’d taken a shortcut to Alphys’s lab, skipping Waterfall to be sure Grillby wouldn’t get hurt by the rivers and rain. Sans told him a human was attacking every monster in sight. He told him to stay put, then left to help with the rest of the evacuation. It had only been after the fact that Grillby realized Sans had been wearing Papyrus’s scarf, and it was covered in dust.

Alphys’s underground lab had quickly filled with frightened monsters. The remaining members of the royal guard had spread the word and were getting people out as fast as they could. Sans could only take one person at a time using his shortcuts, but he still managed to get dozens of people out. Despite it all, they weren’t fast enough. The human was destroying everything in its path. They got to Waterfall, Hotland, and the Core faster than everyone could get out. Survivors started showing up covered in lingering dust.

Grillby forced himself to his feet. Sans had to be nearby. All the survivors had been moved to safety, hidden underground. There was no reason for Sans to still be searching. There was no reason for him to be anywhere but by Grillby’s side, safe and sound. Where was he?

The bartender spotted Alphys handing out blankets and walked over, desperation gripping his soul as he stepped in front of her. “Dr. Alphys, have you seen Sans anywhere? He was helping with the evacuation. He should be back by now.”

Alphys stopped in her tracks. “H-he isn’t here?” She looked around, nearly as worried by the news as Grillby. “He s-said he was taking a- a shortcut home. He was o-o-only going to grab some- some more blankets and food.”

Dread enveloped Grillby’s soul, threatening to break it. No. No, this couldn’t be happening. “Why would you let him go back out there?!”

“The h-human is, um, in New Home,” Alphys stuttered out in her defense. “Sans c-c-can teleport. He doesn’t h-have to get, um, anywhere n-near the human. It should b-b-be safe by now. I’m sure, um, h-he’s probably safe. He’ll be back any moment now! I’m s-sure of it!”

She didn’t sound sure enough for Grillby’s taste. He pushed past her, continuing his search as he went from room to room. Sans should have been back. What if he’d exhausted himself and couldn’t teleport again? What if the human doubled back, searching for survivors, and found Sans?

A flash of red caught Grillby’s eye. A long piece of red fabric was left draped on one of the medical beds. Papyrus’s scarf.

Grillby pulled out his phone, shakily picking the dusty scarf up. Surely Sans had his phone on him, right? The phone rang… and rang… and rang… 

“Congrats, you’ve reached the voicemail of Sans the skeleton. Picking up the phone is too much work right now, so I probably won’t answer if you call me back. You can leave a message, but I probably won’t check my voicemail either. Just text me. Or call Papyrus. See ya.”

The fire monster wanted to cry. He called again and again and again. It went to voicemail every time. He tried texting him, begging Sans to answer…

But nobody came.

Grillby was moving towards the elevator of the lab before he truly comprehended what he was doing. Alphys saw him and rushed after him, grabbing his sleeve. “W-wait! Where are you going?”

“You said Sans was at home, didn’t you?” Grillby answered quietly. “I’m going to find him.”

“You c-can’t! It’s not safe-!”

Grillby turned around, his flames burning hotter as he snapped at her. “But it was safe for Sans to leave, was it?! Don’t be so hypocritical! If you’re truly concerned about the safety of monsters, let me go!”

Alphys fell quiet, trembling a bit. She let go of Grillby’s sleeve and hunched over. She hated being yelled at. Grillby immediately felt guilty, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I just-”

“N-no.” Alphys wiped at her eyes and adjusted her glasses. “You’re right. I sh-shouldn’t have let Sans go. Let, um, let me find a r-rain jacket for you. It will be dangerous for y-you to get through- through Waterfall on your own.”

Grillby was quiet for a moment, then just nodded, letting her leave. She came back moments later with a rain jacket, rubber boots, and an umbrella. The fire monster took them and thanked the scientist, heading towards the elevator. He didn’t say goodbye. In the situation they’d found themselves in, a farewell felt like a curse.

Grillby managed to make it through Waterfall mostly unscathed, folding his umbrella as he walked into Snowdin. The place felt like a ghost town, every window dark and every home abandoned. He tried not to think about it as he approached the skeleton brothers’ house. The door was standing open, filling Grillby with dread. He choked down another wave of panic as he stepped inside the dark living room. “Sans?” Grillby called out, voice feeling muffled by the oppressive, eerie silence. “Sans, are you here? ...god, please be here.” He pulled out his phone again as he walked up the stairs, dialing Sans’s number and waiting.

A default ringtone went off in Sans’s room.

The bartender should’ve felt relieved, but if anything, the sound scared him more than the silence. If Sans was here, why didn’t he answer the phone? Respond to the texts? Grillby tried the door and found it locked, struggling with the knob despite knowing it was useless. “Sans! Are you there?! Please, answer me!”

But nobody came.

The panic Grillby had been holding back consumed him. The fire that made up his body grew as he stepped back, leaning against the railing before moving forward and kicking down the door. 

The room was empty. Sans’s phone was ringing on the bed, abandoned.

For the second time that day, Grillby found himself sobbing, kneeling on the floor as he desperately tried to force himself to breathe. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t have lost Sans, too. He didn’t even say goodbye. He didn’t even get to tell him…

Dizzy with exhaustion, Grillby looked up at the phone again. On the bed next to it was a piece of paper, folded around something. Dragging himself to his feet, the bartender stumbled over, sinking to the ground again as he picked it up. A key fell into his lap. It was small and silver, and it looked old. The note it had been wrapped in had a drawing of the house, with an arrow pointing to something in the back. As Grillby’s gaze drifted down to the base of the drawing, he choked on another sob.

Hey Grillbz,

If you’re reading this, you probably did something stupid like go to my house by yourself with a homicidal psychopath on the loose. Don’t worry, I get it. You did this last time, too. Anyway, this go around, I’m not gonna be here when you show up. 

That key you’ve got goes to a basement behind the house. Go in there. You’ll figure out for yourself where I’ve gone.

When you do, please don’t follow me.

I love you, Grillby. I’m sorry.

~Sans

Grillby read the note over and over, crying as the implications sank in. Whatever Sans was doing, it didn’t sound like he planned to come back. Well, if he thought that Grillby wasn’t going to go after him, he was dead wrong. But first… the bartender had to figure out where Sans was going.

It had taken a minute to get the door behind the house to open. The lock was old, and it stuck for a moment while Grillby jiggled the key to get it in. It finally swung open with an echoing creak, light from outside barely able to illuminate the inside of what looked to be a small home lab of some kind.

Grillby stepped inside, drawn to the large machine in the back. The damage to the odd machine and the char marks on the floor did nothing for Grillby’s anxiety, but the lack of dust around it at least assured him that it probably wasn’t the dangerous thing Sans had been alluding to. The fire monster stepped away from it, moving towards the desk and the piles of paper there. The first thing that caught his eye was a drawer slightly ajar, something inside reflecting the light that Grillby gave off. He opened it the rest of the way, immediately recognizing the badge inside as he picked it up. “This… This is the insignia of the royal scientist. Why would he have this?” Grillby mumbled out loud. Now that he was thinking about it, why would Sans have any of this? It didn’t make any sense. Sans was a sentry, and he had been the entire time Grillby knew him. The skeleton had never mentioned living in Hotland or having a scientific career. The bartender was starting to question how well he knew his best friend, setting the badge back in the drawer and turning to the papers.

The first page was written in some sort of font that Grillby couldn’t understand. Looking at it made his hurt, so he moved it to the side, skipping over it. The next page was thankfully readable. It described something called ‘DT’, and the effects it could have on a monster’s magic if infused properly. The records of the experiments had been partially burned, but most of what Grillby could read was too complicated for him to understand. He never thought Sans was dumb, but the complicated equations were far beyond anything Grillby had seen before. He hadn’t guessed Sans had that level of intelligence, or put that level of work into any one project.

The last few pages had the most burns out of all of them. Some sections were written in that headache-inducing language, with a lot of the notes Grillby could read seemingly added later. It looked like a comparison between the effectiveness of multiple attacks before and after the use of DT. The last few notes made Grillby burn lower, nearly going cold.

In conclusion, DT can be used to temporarily increase stamina and allow a monster to use their magic more effectively, summoning attacks and creating patterns like nothing seen before. However, drawing that level of magic from a monster’s soul can cause their soul to become unstable, tearing it apart. A monster could not withstand the effects of DT long-term without turning to dust.

I could handle it, just for a little while. If it came down to it, I could use the machine on myself and keep the kid from hurting anyone else.

Papyrus… Alphys… Grillby… 🕈︎✋︎☠︎☝︎👎︎✋︎☠︎☝︎💧︎… I’m so sorry.

“No,” Grillby whispered, his eyes widening in panic. “No, no no no no please tell me you didn’t- Sans-”

Sans was going to fight the human.

No matter the outcome, Sans was going to turn to dust.

Grillby ignored the sting of the rain as he sprinted through Waterfall. He didn’t have time to worry about his HP. Sans used that machine on himself. He’d managed to build it, surely he could reverse it if Grillby just reached him in time. His mind was reeling, trying to catch up with everything he learned. Sans had once been involved with the royal scientist. Was that how he knew Alphys? And what was with that strange handwriting? Why would Sans hide it from him? The rain didn’t bother Grillby this time, but he felt a sting in his soul as he realized just how little he knew about Sans. Everything he learned about him throughout their friendship… was it all a lie? Just a cover-up for whatever Sans had done in the past? It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense anymore.

Grillby’s footsteps echoed in the corridors of New Home as he sprinted down the main path. Alphys had said that the human was in New Home somewhere, undoubtedly heading towards the castle. If Sans were to face them, it would be there. He only hoped he could reach him in time.

Sans fell backward as he felt the human’s blade slice through his ribcage. Looking down, he watched in distant shock as blood started to seep from the wound. He knew the whole battle had been pointless… Frisk would just load their save file each time they died, coming back over and over until they killed him… but it still felt so surreal. The fight was over. Sans lost.

“Heh… heh heh…” The skeleton laughed breathlessly to himself as he looked up. The human was expressionless, uncaring. How? How could they have so much apathy, after everyone they hurt?

It didn’t matter. Sans forced himself to his feet, coughing as blood dripped from his mouth. It would be fine. Frisk would reset, everyone would come back, and then they’d die again. The warm golds and oranges of the hall began to blur together as the bloodloss made Sans woozy and he stumbled, leaning against one of the pillars. If he closed his eyes…

He could almost pretend he was sitting at a familiar bar, the bartender smiling at him as he cracked jokes and drank from a ketchup bottle.

“Welp. I’m going to Grillby’s,” Sans said weakly, tears filling his eyes.

“Papyrus… do you want anything?”

Footsteps echoed in the final hallway as Grillby ran, desperation gripping his soul. He almost ran right past it. He skidded to a stop as his mind processed what he’d seen. His mind went empty and numb, and he turned around, walking a few paces back the way he’d come.

At the base of one of the pillars was a blue jacket, sitting in a pile of dust.

Grillby screamed.

No. No, it couldn’t end like this. The fire elemental fell to his knees and picked up Sans’s jacket, wailing as he held it to his chest. When he did- God, he was covered in dust. Sans’s dust. The thought made him drop the jacket and turn away, gagging and throwing up until there was nothing left.

Grillby wrapped his arms around himself, the humidity in the room increasing as he sobbed. He thought of Sans’s smile, his jokes and laughter, the way he always winked at the end of a bad pun. Was any of that even real? Did Sans enjoy being around Grillby, or was it all a façade? Grief and betrayal settled heavily over the bartender, threatening to drown him. He dry-heaved again, choking as he desperately fought for air.

I love you, Grillby.

Grillby... I’m so sorry.

The words washed over him, pushing those feelings away. It didn’t matter. Whoever Sans had been before, it didn’t change what the two of them had. Grillby wouldn’t let it.

Grillby picked up Sans’s jacket as he stood, shaking the dust off and putting it on. The heat in the room became sweltering as the fire monster was filled with rage. That human... that human had taken so much from him. His friends, his family... the skeleton he loved. They couldn’t get away with it. He wouldn’t let them.

The fire monster walked towards the end of the hall, eyes burning with murderous rage. That human was going to pay for what they-

The world stuttered.

Grillby hummed to himself as he wiped down his bar, getting ready to open for the day. Hm, that was strange. Lifting the cloth, he noticed that it had quickly gotten fairly dirty. There was dust all over Grillby’s hands, coming off on the towel. He shrugged to himself as he wiped them off and got another towel.

It was probably nothing.

Thanks for reading! This one accidentally turned out kind of long. It’s pretty stream-of-consciousness, but I’m too busy to edit it today and I’m too eager to post it to wait.

Reblog or leave me a comment telling me what you think! Asks are open if you would like to leave a prompt for me, and let me know if you want to be on my Undertale fic taglist!

[work-of-waking-up]

In Defense of the Psychopath

Alright, wanna venture into my crazy ass brain? I’m going to start by saying one thing that will set the tone for everything else that follows: Villanelle is not a psychopath in the way that we currently understand them. Why am I even bothering to write about a fictional character, you ask? Because representation is important. Media portrayal of various mental and behavioral health topics (including ones that people might not think need to be discussed) is important and this show has a big audience. I also just want to contribute to the conversations that are taking place because I am seeing A LOT of them and the reason for that I believe boils down to the fact that Jodie makes Villanelle so relatable and people want to know what that means and looks like for them. Even those who felt they could relate to Sandra’s Eve, or the relationship between the two, maybe questioned what that meant the further they went down the path with them. “It’s probably a bad thing I relate to a psychopath, right? But she can’t be a psychopath because she cries and she feels things! Psychopaths don’t cry, which means she isn’t realistic so therefore it’s okay that I relate to her! Right? Or are my assumptions about psychopaths and people with antisocial personality disorder wrong? I relate to Eve but look what she is underneath it all...so does that mean I relate to that part of her too?” Not only is villanelles character relatable, but people see the freedom inherent within her, the freedom that Eve sees, and they realize that, at least on some level, they want it too. The show has (unintentionally I think) created a massive dialogue which is super cool and you can tell everyone involved on the show is aware of that now, I mean they have a consulting psychiatrist so I think that speaks for itself. This is less of a commentary on the character herself and whether or not she is a genuine psychopath, and more so a commentary on the conversations she has inspired and why... For the record, this is literally just my opinion sprinkled with a few facts, nothing else.

So, the term psychopath gets thrown around in the show, more so in the beginning, MI6 explicitly labels Villanelle this way, even going so far as to use her in a presentation about psychopaths, although I think that was more so to gauge Eve’s response than anything else. The reality of Villanelle, which we come to learn, is that nobody has been able to get close enough to really know the truth. Anna and Konstantin both got close but we never hear either of them use that word (Konstantin says it once but he clearly doesn’t mean it, it was more of an attempted manipulation tactic). They make it clear that she has, and can, and WILL cause damage, but that’s as far as they go. Eve is getting close and she tells Villanelle when they first meet that she knows Villanelle is a psychopath but it’s obvious from Eve's behavior and things she says later on that she truly doesn’t believe Villanelle is what everyone says she is. It’s easier to label her as a psychopath because that alienates and isolates her and her behavior completely. She is an outlier with behavioral anomalies and therefore it isn’t necessary to look any closer. For MI6 and others (not talking about the shows creators) to label Villanelle as a psychopath is easy, it’s lazy, it’s reductive, it serves a single purpose... a means to an end. They (anyone other than Eve basically) simply do not care about Villanelle’s truth. But as an audience we are lucky enough to see more of her with each episode. The psychopath label begins to fade and Oksana is what’s left. We know based on what she has said that she is aware that people think she is a psychopath, a monster, a person built to kill. It’s not always easy to decide that who you are is different from who you’ve always been told you are, especially given her history. Villanelle hasn’t told us yet if she thinks (or knows) that she is a psychopath, but it’s clear towards the end of last season that she no longer wants to be the person that they (meaning the twelve, Dasha, Konstantin, etc.) created. We see moments where she clearly has no remorse and clearly enjoys what she does, but then we have little moments sprinkled in between where she very obviously struggles, even if its short lived. And those moments are important. We have the moment where she struggles with the choice to shoot Konstantin, saying he is a good person, she thinks. This comes shortly after a conversation she had where Irina tells Villanelle she thinks she is a good person because she is sad, so we know she is thinking about it, we know the awareness is there, and it becomes more and more there as times goes on. I like to think of it in terms of having moments that are pure Villanelle (ie the way she killed Inga in the Russian prison), and then we have moments that are Oksana, vulnerable and emotional. Villanelle is a creation and a mask whereas oksana is the truth. Those moments are starting to really mean something. I'm not even going to start with her trip to find her family, that’s its own thing, but it's a Really Big Thing.

So. Villanelle is not a psychopath in the way that we currently understand and perceive them. Yes, she displays psychopathic traits, and yes, she absolutely has antisocial personality disorder. I read an article where the psychiatric consultant for the show (makes it pretty obvious how hard they worked to make Villanelle as realistic as possible) said that the Villanelle in Luke Jenning’s books scored a 32 on Hare’s psychiatric checklist, but I like to think (and I think a lot of people would agree) that number is a bit high, at least for Jodie’s Villanelle, maybe not even hitting 30 at all (close though, let’s be real lol). The max score is 40 which would be a fully blown primary psychopath. For reference, Ted Bundy scored 39. This checklist is flawed though, mostly created and based off the prison population. Which is why it isn’t used as a proper diagnostic tool. 32 is apparently extraordinarily high for a female (think Aileen Wuornos), which brings me to my next point which is that because it’s hard to measure a lot of the classic traits objectively, there is not a ton of solid data surrounding psychopathy, and even less of it is on female psychopaths. Like most things in life, psychopathy exists on a spectrum, there are levels and layers. It’s not black and white, there’s no definitive test (psychopathy isn’t even in the DSM-5 because as I said earlier it’s extremely hard to measure objectively) and it's important to distinguish between someone who exhibits psychopathic traits and someone who is actually an identifiable psychopath. Chances are high that someone you know displays at least one characteristic shared with psychopaths and this doesn’t make them one.

I think what’s important about this is that mental disorders (mental illness/personality disorders/etc.) of any kind are much more nuanced than a lot of people tend to think they are. That they exist less in black and white and more in shades of grey. Jodie Comer is absolutely remarkable for showcasing that through portraying the different layers of Villanelle. Her performance is a literal gift. We cannot keep thinking and acting like we know everything about how a person thinks, feels, and behaves based strictly and entirely on one label. The thing that has stuck out to me the most, the reason I decided to even write this bullshit babble, is that one of the most searched topics about the show is whether or not it’s realistic that Villanelle cries, and honestly how sad is that? That makes me sad for V. Is it more realistic for her to develop connections and cognitive empathy if she was made into a psychopath vs if she was born that way? Is there a legitimate difference between the two? And how do we even decide which one is applicable for someone? It’s important to add that antisocial personality disorder is not the same thing as psychopathy or sociopathy. You can have aspd and not be a psychopath. Research has shown that about only a third of those diagnosed with aspd would meet criteria to be considered a psychopath. Society is not doing a great job at getting people to understand this. But to be fair, understanding personality disorders specifically has been somewhat problematic, a lot of diagnostic confusion and overlap between disorders. A LOT of work needs to be done. But as far as portrayals go, society has strictly chosen to go the route of giving us psychopathic characters and having them be inherently violent, incapable of remorse, feelings, or change. Poverty of all emotions. Subhuman. They are made out to be so abnormal and unrelatable to the point where the character of Villanelle has sparked so much debate and fascination simply because she exists in a way that actually IS relatable...and layered and beautiful and thrilling. We thought she would be the bad guy and yet we root for her at every turn, we cry for her, we want good things for her! We see her darkness and without question or hesitation we forgive it. She makes us question what we’ve previously been shown. Questioning whether or not it’s realistic that she acts the way she does is less important than questioning our own personal assumptions and beliefs and where those come from. I think that’s awesome. Villanelle is truly a gift. She is hands down one of the most well written fictional characters, which is saying a lot considering when you put something, or someone, in a box it doesn’t leave tons of room for expansion. and I honestly don’t even really need to say this, but.. Jodie Comer.

[neerons]

Some of the HLITF MC’s best quotes

“Instructor Goto... Always kind and diligent, his instructions easy to understand... I owe him a great deal. Instructor Ishigami... Very Spartan methods. The hardest of them all to make the grade with. Instructor Soma... They say his remarks can cut like a knife from time to time, but his advice is invaluable. Instructor Kaga... ......All that comes to mind is being backed up against a wall. Also, the fact that he has a ton of closet fans among the male trainees. Chief... Always paying for your instructors’ ramen... Wait! That’s not what I’m going for here!” (—MC’s thoughts, in Shinonome’s route)

“Hurrah, scientific mumbo jumbo on parade. I’m following about half of this conversation.” (—MC’s thoughts)

“Shinonome, you magnificent man, you!” (—MC to Shinonome, as Shinonome’s girlfriend)

“I think they look pretty awesome, personally. Who doesn’t love boobs? (—MC’s thoughts about her breasts, as Shinonome’s girlfriend)

“I mean, Shinonome’s real type is more Sachi than me. So calm and kind... And then there’s the whole, um... boob thing. Man, she has great breasts. So jealous.” (—MC’s thoughts, as Shinonome’s girlfriend)

“I love everything about Shinonome! Even when he’s being nerdy, even when he’s being mean. Even though he’d make a better girl than I do and his mushroo— I mean, his hair’s so silky...” (—MC to Sachi, in Shinonome’s route)

“Okay, when I go back to visit my folks, I’m a total slob. I don’t help around the house, I just laze around and throw my socks on the floor.” (—MC to Sachi, in Shinonome’s route)

“And anyway, who cares what I eat? I’ve got abs of steel. Wanna touch? Put your hands on these babies and you’ll see...” (—MC to Shinonome, as Shinonome’s girlfriend)

“(...) All I was trying to say is that I accept you for everything you are, anyway! Bad hair day? Slipped on a banana peel? Wore your shirt inside out? Bring it on! And again, even if your equipment’s not working, I’ll accept that too.” (—MC to Shinonome)

(...) I’m not that much of a pervert! So please, let me sniff you a little longer? I mean, no. Scratch that. Let me HUG you a little longer. (—MC to Shinonome)

“I mean... yes, they DO look very... tasty out there on the field. But oh my god...” (—MC’s thoughts about the instructors)

“The roundness of the mushroom caps reminds me of something... Ah... I’m grilling Shinonome’s head.” (—MC’s thoughts, as Shinonome’s girlfriend)

“(...) Graduation means the culmination of a long-held agreement between us. Starting with that post-graduation kiss. And I dunno if there’ll be a celebration or what, but what I’m most interested in... MOST interested in... Is that Shinonome and I are finally going to... We’re gonna... YEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSS!!!!” (—MC’s thoughts, as Shinonome’s girlfriend)

“Who shows up on an overnight trip with their hot boyfriend in bargain bin undies? Me, apparently.” (—MC’s thoughts, as Shinonome’s girlfriend)

“Is it me, or am I hitting like, peak fabulous girlfriend here? Hangin’ out in my boyfriend’s kitchen, totally got a handle on things! Kinda deal? YES! Freaking yay!” (MC’s thoughts, as Shinonome’s girlfriend)

“(...) I got to see glimpses of your stomach, and... those abs... Your abs are just, yeah, wow... Intriguing stuff, believe me.” (—MC to Shinonome, as Shinonome’s girlfriend)

“I-I’m broke! I’m waiting on salary day, and I used my winter bonus on a year-long train pass.” (—MC to Shinonome, as Shinonome’s girlfriend)

“Say what you like about me...But don’t you dare insult my darling Kaga!” (—MC’s thoughts, as Kaga’s girlfriend)

(...) a friendly and gregarious Kaga wouldn’t really be Kaga.” (MC’s thoughts, as Kaga’s girlfriend)

“I figured Kaga had brought me here for some freaky hanky-panky.” (—MC’s thoughts, as Kaga’s girlfriend)

“Demon...” (—MC to Kaga, as Kaga’s girlfriend)

“(...) Mean is like his default factory setting.” (—MC talking about Kaga to Chiba, as Kaga’s girlfriend)

“Chief thinks he’s so smart... he’s just a pachinko playing slacker!” (—MC’s thoughts, in Namba’s route)

“I discard my fantasy into a mental box marked ‘never gonna happen.’” (—MC’s thoughts)

“With all the love in the world, I give him the finger.” (—MC’s thoughts, as Shinonome’s girlfriend)

“How about we stay inside all day and bang it out on every surface we can think of?” (—MC to Shinonome)

“I’m nothing if not motivated when it comes to getting down with you.” (—MC to Shinonome)

“They dissed my silver fox! Unforgivable!” (—MC’s thoughts about random boys, as Namba’s girlfriend)

“Kaga looks so cute, obediently opening his mouth for the rice porridge. (...) Yikes... I’d better not say the word ‘cute’, or they’ll never even find my body...” (—MC’s thoughts, as Kaga’s girlfriend)

“Recently Kaga flip-flops between being a snarling beast and a purring kitty.” (—MC’s thoughts, as Kaga’s girlfriend)

“I pull off his shirt, taking a moment to appreciate his chiseled body. Usually it’s dark when we... you know. To see him up close in full light... (...) I drag my eyes back up to his face with difficulty.” (—MC’s thoughts, as Kaga’s girlfriend)

“Why am I the only one all flustered? Why does he get to be cool?” (—MC’s thoughts, as Kaga’s girlfriend)

“Finally you value me! It’s been such a hard road to get here!” (—MC to Kaga, as Kaga’s girlfriend)

“Usually I’d cringe at being in the pretty girl role at work. But this is serious! If batting my eyelashes can help, I’ll bat away!” (—MC’s thoughts)

“I’m becoming a real pervert thanks to Kaga!” (—MC’s thoughts, as Kaga’s girlfriend)

“Sorry. I kind of got excited over the thought of you seeing me in my swimsuit. (...) I’d like you to take it off me...” (—MC to Kaga)

“Take me, please.” (—MC to Kaga)

“Oh, actually I haven’t been eating much because I’m so exhausted from the heat. I’ve only been having seconds, not thirds!” (—MC to Kaga, as Kaga’s girlfriend)

“A year has passed already, and yet Kaga still manages to inspire mortal fear in me.” (—MC’s thoughts)

“I personally have had a marker to the head so many times, it barely stings anymore!” (—MC talking about Kaga’s class to Namba)

“I wonder what people are thinking when they walk past us? I bet they’re jealous that I’m out and about with a silver fox. No wait, he’s married...” (—MC’s thoughts about Namba)

“Oh no! Ishigami thinks I’m useless, too! I mean, I know I am, but to have him basically agree...!” (—MC’s thoughts, in a Prologue)

“Why am I wasting precious fantasizing time with that nonsense?!” (—MC’s thoughts)

“Yikes, stop staring! I’m totally perving on his body!” (—MC’s thoughts)

“This is what passes for democracy these days?!” (—MC to the instructors and Namba)

“He’s a fantastic kisser, too. Where did he learn to kiss like that, anyway? Who gave him the right?! I’d genuinely like to know why kisses feel so good. Y’know, for science. What a man, what a man, what a mighty fine man! Mm.” (—MC’s thoughts, as Shinonome’s girlfriend)

“Man, I am just so good at this improving thing, I even impress myself. (...) If you don’t give yourself a pat on the back from time to time, who will?!” (—MC to Miyayama)

“Hey! I’m a beautiful daisy, not dandelion fluff! Or maybe I’m both. Maybe I’m more like a burr! Not like I’m planning on letting you go anytime soon, anyway. Mwaha!” (—MC to Shinonome, as Shinonome’s girlfriend)

“Kaga got up close and intimate against a wall with a criminal? Okie dokie.” (—MC’s thoughts)

“I don’t get laid to get paid, fellas!” (—MC’s thoughts)

“I was searching for Captain Tsugaru, expecting a gorilla, and now I’ve run into this total hottie instead. I should be used to hot guys, though. I mean, the instructors... (...) he gives me a charming smile, and I mentally thank his parents for making him.” (—MC’s thoughts)

“My mental image of Kaga scares me into stepping forward.” (—MC’s thoughts)

“Get him a hundred roses! If I could pull a move like that, I’d straight up date myself.” (—MC’s thoughts)

“Did they just say I’m being treated like a pet? In that case someone should definitely call animal welfare on my behalf...” (—MC’s thoughts)

“...You womanizer. Tastebud psychopath. Waste of a handsome face. Emotional chair-flinger.” (—MC insulting Tsugaru)

“I thought it must have been with a special lady if he came to such a fancy place before. Sorry Kaga. You’re not a lady, but you’re definitely special.” (—MC’s thoughts/ Tsugaru’s route)

“Praise the gods for Seiji Goto, the shining beacon of Public Safety!” (—MC’s thoughts/ Tsugaru’s route)

“Wow, what a love fest. Am I intruding here?” (—MC’s thoughts about Tsugaru and Momose)

“I have a second stomach when I’m not the one paying. And besides, isn’t this a date?” (—MC to Tsugaru/ Tsugaru’s route)

“We’ll do it for sure. Like bunnies! Oh yes! As they say... nothing ventured, no one gets laid.” (—MC’s thoughts, as Shinonome’s girlfriend)

“I guess I just don’t tickle Shinonome’s pickle...” (—MC’s thoughts, as Shinonome’s girlfriend)

“That’s him! I’d recognize his cute butt anywhere!” (—MC’s thoughts, as Shinonome’s girlfriend)

“He could’ve dragged me into some secluded room and had his wicked way with me! That would’ve been nice! I would’ve flung my undies with abandon if so!” (—MC’s thoughts, as Shinonome’s girlfriend)

“Your eyelashes are so long, I was thinking it would be a pain if they stabbed me.” (—MC to Tsugaru)

“(...) He’s seen my abs. In fact, nothing makes him splutter faster than a glimpse of these babies.” (—MC’s thoughts, as Shinonome’s girlfriend)

“His mushroom- I mean, silky hair... His pride and joy has turned into a bird’s nest!” (—MC’s thoughts about Shinonome)

“I’ve come to the conclusion that I suck at everything.” (—MC to Namba)

“Kaga’s niceness is so subtle you can blink and miss it.” (—MC’s thoughts about Kaga)

“He’s a brute! A fiend! He’s not my boyfriend or a detective, he’s the ruler of the underworld!” (—MC’s thoughts about Kaga)

“Sorry! I wasn’t thinking you two are cute or anything!” (—MC talking about Ishigami and Kaga in front of them)

“I do enjoy sleeping in your arms, of course… But I much prefer it when you make love to me.” (—MC to Goto)

[secret-diary-of-an-fa]

God of War (PS4) Review: Kratos’ Postal Grief Beard Versus Norse Mythology

Once upon a time, a man was born by the name of Cory Barlog and thus a coin was flipped. Would he become a videogame developer or would he take up guarding the Mines of Moria by pulling wizards into a precipice? Those really are the only two options with a name like Barlog. Anyway, apparently the Mines of Moria were a bit of a commute, so the world gained a talented Auteur developer with a unique vision for a game series about going postal in ancient Greece. Fast-foward a number of years specifically calculated to make you feel old and ancient Greece is a distant memory. Norse mythology is where all the cool kids hang out nowadays, and that’s where we’re going in today’s review.

As you might have guessed, I’ve just finished playing God of War (PS4), which is fun to say because it rhymes. It’s a very good game that should be a very bad game. When considering modern media artefacts, I’m often prompted to ask the question ‘what went so wrong?’, but this may be the first time I’ve had to ask the question ‘what went so right?’.

Let me explain: God of War 4 (I don’t care that they don’t put the number on the box art, that’s what it fucking is) makes a single, monumentally stupid creative decision that should ruin the entire enterprise, but doesn’t. And that creative decision was- wait for it- a stab at maturity.

The last time we saw Kratos- the world’s angriest mythical being- he was finishing his battle with the Greek gods in God of War 3. There was a moment in that game which, to me, typified what was so great about the series. If I recall the sequence of events correctly, you kill your way through an ocean of expendable goons and critters who are just trying to defend their home on Mount Olympus, dripping with blood and screaming furiously, then wander into the bedroom of one of ancient Greece’s sauciest goddesses and play a sex minigame that you win by fucking her so well that her handmaids orgasm too. Then you toddle outside again and, head cleared, solve an incredibly complex and cerebral puzzle involving non-Euclidean geometry and perspective manipulation that takes bloody ages. That, in a nutshell, was the core identity of the original God of War: a gleefully unrestrained and immature approach to sex and violence coupled with a grouchy willingness to make unsuspecting players feel like fucking idiots for no reason whatsoever. It was awesome. In contrast, God of War 4 picks up many, many years later with Kratos hiding out in Midgard of the Norse mythos and, for once, he hasn’t got a nark on and he’s not trying to stick his cock in someone with cartoonishly huge knockers. He’s just sad because his missus has passed away, leaving him and their young, impressionable son alone in a big, scary world full of trolls and ginger psychopaths. ‘Sad’ isn’t a completely new emotion for Kratos, but, up until this point, he was usually sad in a way that resulted in five hundred people getting their spines broken in a very colourful manner. Now he just wants to cremate the remains of the woman he loved and carry her ashes to the tallest peak in the nine realms so he can scatter her in accordance with her final wishes. And that’s what he does, with son- Atreus- in tow. It’s a twenty-plus hour game in which the objective is very simply to honour someone’s preferred funeral rites- nothing more, nothing less. It’s very modest by Kratos usual standards. Remember that his stated goal in the previous game was to punch freakin’ Zeus so hard that his face would go all concave and then repeatedly stamp on his corpse.

We never actually find out much about what Kratos was up to between games or how he met his wife. However, he’s a bit thiccer than in previous instalments and seems to have lost the use of the ‘jump’ button outside of context-sensitive environments. On that evidence, I choose to believe he’s been running a small but successful family restaurant called ‘Kratos’ Potatoes’ and enjoying it all a bit much. And why not? He beat up Zeus- if he just wants to create and sample homely yet exotic Greco-Norse fusion cuisine while growing a ridiculous straggly dad-beard, I say let him crack on. Actually, is it a ‘dad beard’ or is it a ‘grief beard’? I think they send them to videogame characters in the post whenever a loved one dies so they can signal to the world how sad they are through the medium of angsty facial hair. But where was? Oh yeah: cracking on with it.

Y’see this is where the plot comes in: the Norse gods won’t let Kratos crack on. They’re determined to make him bow before Odin- especially Baldur, who is way too invested in having a fight with Kratos for reasons that won’t become apparent until very late in the game. They just keep turning up and trying to break Kratos and his increasingly like-him-but-not-as-good-at-it son Atreus. This time around, our heroes commit heinous acts of violence to defend themselves, not enact revenge, as they travel, inexorably, to the top of a lonely mountain through landscapes of stunning natural beauty and many, many hostile creatures.

Of course, Kratos taking his son on a hiking holiday with added troll-murder and the occasional slap-fight with Norse mythology’s biggest killjoys doesn’t sound as interesting as the original games. After all, those were basically a production of Kill Bill in which the part of Bill was played by a guy with the power to summon lightning bolts and access to a seemingly unstoppable army of monsters and demigods. The ‘fun factor’ even seems to have taken another downgrade, in that Kratos no longer operates with the entertainingly demented passion of the insane: he has been tempered by time and love and managed to turn himself into a paragon of serious self control. So why is God of War 4 so bloody good? Partly, I suspect, the answer lies in the constantly evolving relationship between Kratos and Atreus, which gives the story an unbelievable amount of heart and always manages to feel very organic. Kratos never learned how to be a parent, and we essentially watch him do it in real time, forming a bond with his son that seems impossible at the start of the game and inevitable by the end. Partly, the games greatness lies in the characters you meet along the way, who range from bickering dwarves to talking, decapitated heads who prattle on like laid-back tour-guides. Partly, it’s in the beautiful, epic landscapes that make the journey across the Realms to the highest peak feel epic and significant, even while it is small and personal.

But a videogame is nothing without gameplay, and it is here that God of War 4 really shines. I loved the original God of War trilogy (especially the third instalment), but I rarely felt like I was playing as, y’know, a god of war. Kratos might not be an uncontrollable whirlwind of fury any more, but he feels truly powerful for the first time in the ongoing series. In fights, every punch feels like it could crack stone; every axe-throw like it could rend the sky; every chain-whip like it could legitimately start a forest-fire. Out of combat, Kratos moves around the environment with the stolid grace of a man who knows his movements are inevitable; irresistible; an imposition on the environment that can’t be denied. You climb and complete elaborate, complex traversals knowing that the satisfaction you feel isn’t just the satisfaction of finding the correct route or solving an obstacle, but the satisfaction of a being forcing his way through a landscape that resists him at every turn but cannot stop him. The puzzles- of which there are many- strike the perfect balance between conceptual trickiness and ease of execution to remind you that Kratos is smart as well as determined; that his mind is as indomitable as his body. Then there are the little touches involving heaving huge stone pillars and similar unnecessarily over-the-top efforts. In short, the gameplay is interwoven with who Kratos is- with what he is in way that seems completely unprecedented. Even the RPG elements feel  appropriate: they reflect the protagonist’s growing confidence in a skillet he hasn’t used in a long, long time.

Do I miss the uniquely juvenile, over the top identity of the old games? Absolutely: I’m a great fan of gratuitous gore and scantily clad women with big fuck-off swords. Usually, I find the desire for maturity in games to be a silly, pretentious trend that foolishly eschews anything obviously ‘fun’ for no reason other than courting the respect of people whose respect isn’t worth having. But I don’t think that’s what’s going on here- at least, not entirely. The developers of the God of War games are clearly artisans and craftsmen of extreme talent: their attention to detail is superb and their ability to weave a good tale from a simple premise is actually a little daunting for someone who considers himself a bloody good story-teller. It’s worth remembering that the de facto head of the studio, Barlog, became a father himself before commencing work on this game about a father learning to bond with his son. It feels personal and meant because it is. Other games might reach for superficially mature themes like family and redemption for altogether cynical reasons. God of War 4 does it because such thoughts are clearly much on the developer’s mind. I asked already ‘Do I miss the identity of the old games?’ and the answer is still yes. But that question deserves a follow-up: am I willing to embrace the identity of this new, quieter God of War anyway? And yes, yes I am.

But if we could have a few more women with enormous knockers and Kratos going properly batshit just once or twice in the next sequel, that would also be welcome. I mean, let’s try to strike a balance here, people, for pity’s sake.

[chronicbatfictioner]

Exchanges and Compromises - Chapter 13

"Grayson? Are you awake?" the tiny little voice was unmistakably scared. The Court has trained Dick more than enough to recognize fear in a human being, and complimented on his natural ability to read people. If asked, he would say that children would be the easiest to read.

Except for Damian.

According to Jason, Damian has been trained by his mother and grandfather, and a plethora of trainers, to eventually take the mantle of the Demon Head from Ra's Al Ghul. His trainers, including Jason, have joked that it might take a while; because Ra's was believed to be an immortal. He has the magic fountain of youth called the Lazarus Pit that could even revive the dead and has been using it in the past 300+ years. Or so the lore said.

Behind Damian's back, Jason has also told them that both Ra's and Talia were decapitated and their heads were missing. The Lazarus Pit might be able to revive the dead, except it required the important organs of the body to be intact; e.g. head, heart, lungs, etc. Dick reckoned that the heads were removed exactly to prevent the use of the Lazarus Pit.

"You need something, buddy?" Dick replied.

"Not at the moment, thank you," Damian replied, taking a seat next to Dick's station next to the door. "I can't sleep." he admitted.

"Nervous for tomorrow?"

Tomorrow they were going to the Wayne Manor, through a convoluted route that Tim has come up in order to avoid detection by anyone who might want Damian to a. not meet his father or b. kill him to take full control of the League of Assassin. Yeah, neither scenario appealed to Dick, but the little voice in his head said that scenario b might be preferable than scenario a.

Dick never understood men who denied their children of their presence. He remembered his dad, a poor circus performer, who would even give small shows for kids who couldn't afford to watch the aerials - walking on his hands, random somersaults, teaching them how to somersault. He remembered Tim's crestfallen face when he couldn't go and watch Dick perform that day - albeit it turned out to be a little more beneficial for Tim in the long run. He remembered his dad telling him that "whatever little things you show those kids now would make them feel that they are loved and cared for, even if they don't have money. And they'll remember you forever."

"I do not understand nervousness," Damian replied plaintively.

"No, but your brain is giving you signals that make you anxious, you know? Like, you're wondering what's gonna happen tomorrow, and a thousand of scenarios would run to your head. That's... the chemical imbalance is called 'nervousness', I think." Dick explained. Jason has also warned him that Damian hated being treated like a child. Jason has been the only person other than his mother or grandfather who was 'allowed' to discipline him and tell him 'no'.

Still, adult body language and attitude notwithstanding, Dick could see and recognize the child Damian still was.

"Soo... when I couldn't sleep, my mother used to read to me. I mean, obviously I could read on my own by then. But there's just something... I dunno, maybe my subconsciousness just calmed down at the thought that she was there with me. Whatever would happen tomorrow, she would be there, too, to proverbially catch me when I fall, you know?

"I know it's... hard, that... you know that your mother is gone and all. But the thing is - like Tim has told Jason, whatever will happen tomorrow with your biological father, you'll still have a home with us." Dick said, eyeing Damian sideways to check if he was offended or not.

"I have a home with the League of Assassins," Damian stated haughtily. "Jason has informed me that there is a difference between underlings and friends. I gather what you are saying is that I shall have you as friends - as contemporaries - rather than an underling, as you all seem to revere to this Oracle person."

"See, Oracle is not really our... supervisor. Oracle is a really good friend who believes that we all could be good and showed us how. I..." Dick hesitated as he was about to say 'she' to designate Oracle. "When Bane killed off the Court of Owls and almost all of the Talons, I was lost. But then I remembered this person. Through the years of my training, this person had somehow remained in my memory. And the first time we've met was literally a few hours before it turned to be the worst day of my life, the day when my parents' were murdered. Before that, I was playing outside, performing tricks for the kids who couldn't get in the aerial shows. Oracle was there and told me that I was a 'good person' after I was done. I don't know how or why, but it stuck with me.

"I am a Talon, I am trained to kill those who hurt Gotham City. I have done so many despicable things that... I dunno, common people might simply see me as... as a vile person. A criminal psychopath. But not Oracle. Oracle and Tim opened their doors, asked me to join them to help them make Gotham better for the common people. Because they believed I'm a good man. I've been here for barely three months, and I'm enjoying myself. Sure, the fights were harder and viler than when I was Talon - especially since the criminals now seemed to have superpowers and no longer fear the sight of a Talon. But I do it because I know they count on me to make it work. And because I know that whatever will happen, I'm not alone. I won't be hiding in a nest somewhere alone, tending to my own wounds. I won't have to wonder where I'll get my next meal from, or if I'll have a warm place to hide in..."

Dick was really just rambling because it has been a long time since anyone would listen without judging or being wary of what his intentions were. But then he felt a weight on his side and looked. Damian was leaning on him, eyes closed. He twitched a little when Dick quieted down.

So Dick continued, "It's been a while... a good long while since anybody listened to me and not take my opinion as being counted. As a Talon, I was to do as told. The 'how' would be the only thing in my discretion. The who, where, and when, were all decided. The 'why' should never be asked. Here, my opinion counts - except on wearables. I don't know why.

"Therefore, Damian. Oracle is not the 'leader' of us. I'd rather see Oracle as our pillar of support. I know a lot of the Oracle to consider... them--"

"Her," Jason's voice suddenly corrected him. "We know she's a female, Dick. Don't worry. We're not interested in figuring out who she is, yet." he smirked. "Subliminal marketing, much?"

Dick chuckled. "More like a bedtime story for the real-life assassin-slash-heir youngster," he replied. "How long have you known?"

"Pretty much the first fifteen minutes after her projection showed up. Her reactions of yours and Tim's antics were kind of like--" Jason paused and swallowed. "Talia's when we did the same..."

"You cared for her," Dick concluded.

"She took me off the streets and give me a home and purpose. So yeah, I cared." Jason replied. "So how did Oracle became your personal muse?"

"She has... uhh... distinctive features that caught my eyes then, I guess. Can you imagine that? I was like, ten years old." Dick grinned. "Puberty pre-kicking, I guess. But I'd picked the right person, I think. Most of the Talons forgot who they were after the training. I still remember that I'm Dick Grayson, son of John and Mary; once one of the best family of aerialists in the world." he said. "Was it anything like that in the League's training? Do they want you to forget who you were?"

Jason snorted. "No, if anything, they want you to remember and remember how bad it could get if you're not there."

"Was it that bad for you?"

Jason shrugged. "I'd probably end up as a hooker by the end of that week if Talia didn't get me outta Crime Alley." he replied. "that, or dead, or jailed. Whichever got to me first."

"Oookay..." Dick looked at Damian, who was fast asleep. "Think he'll wake up if I move him?"

"Naah, I'll move him." Jason offered and picked up Damian easily. Damian stirred a little but settled his head on Jason's shoulder. "Thanks. I got the feeling that if this daddy stuff doesn't work out, he'll be adopting you," he added.

Dick snorted a soft laugh. "Yeah right..."

But regardless, he did spend the rest of the night wondering if Bruce Wayne would rise to the occasion, or sink to his playboy reputation. Even the Court never bothered to pay him much attention, largely due to his larger-than-life obnoxiousness. He wondered if Damian would indeed be better remaining there, at the Birds of Prey's lair.

His last thought before succumbing to sleep was, at least there's Jason, who seemed to be the voice of reason for Damian...

[taetaesbitch]

Playing With Fire - Chapter 2 - It’s a fiend thing

Jungkook x Reader

Warnings: 18+ Smut, Supernatural

Word Count: 1.8k

You can’t stop thinking about that fire dancer, but as you go about your normal life, something seems off, the shadows are closing in...

Chapter 2 - It’s a fiend thing

You’re still thinking about that mysterious fire dancer the next day, as you make your way through town, fantasizing about seeing him again.

“Are you sure you weren’t on drugs?” You raise your eyebrows at your sister’s remark.

“I was so not! He was there. He was a solid being. And then he was… he was just… gone.” You gaze into the distance thinking about those alluring eyes.

“Yeah either you were high or seeing spirits. Nothing else makes sense.” You strike Dot’s arm and she groans in pain.

“Well where were you all night?” When she doesn’t answer, you glance over at her, her face is guilty and she fiddles with a thread on her bag. You let out an exaggerated gasp.

“You weren’t! You weren’t with Seth were you?!” She struggles to keep a straight face before beaming at me.

“What did you two devils get up to?” She smirked before opening her mouth to reply, “Wait, no I don’t want to know.” You link arms and giggle before heading into the market. 

After a productive day, you head home to your riverside townhouse, taking the woodland path. You can’t help but feel like someone is watching you. Shadows lurk at the corner of your vision, and a twig snaps. You spin to face the path behind you, but there is no one there. Your pulse spikes, taking a deep breath, you turn on your heel and walk quickly towards your house. Footsteps sound behind you as you near it. With the dying light and far too many horror movie scenarios playing out in your head, you sprint to your front door. With trembling hands you jam your keys in the lock and twist. Someone grabs your shoulders and says “Raaa!” Causing your heart to sky rocket and you to shriek. Turning to face your housemate, you whack them on the arm, frowning.

“You scared the shit out of me!” Your breathing is ragged. Your housemate, Sabrina, doubles over laughing. “You think this is funny? I could have had a heart attack!”

“It was worth it!” You scowl at her before smiling, relieved that it was her and not some serial killer. 

“Blue today?” She touches her spiky blue hair.

“Yeah, aquamarine if you want to be specific.” She grins.

“It suits you. Why are you out here anyway? You’re usually home an hour before me.” 

“Oh, I think I lost my keys on the way home, I can’t find them so I’ve been waiting for you to come home.” 

“Huh, well come on, lets order take out.”

“Oo yah!” You shut the front door and ensure it’s locked. 

“(Y/N).” A seductive voice whispers, “(Y/N).” Dark eyes peer into yours from the shadows. Invisible hands grab your body and spin you into flame. You cry out but pass right through unharmed, as if it were just air. The voice chuckles and tuts, before laying you down on that flame. A figure looms over you, lustful eyes attached to it, that dark skin and playful smirk. Leaning down, he brushes his lips over yours, the shadows consuming you. 

A rush of growing whispers startle you awake, you sit upright in bed, gulping down air. Alarmingly turned on and shaken. You swear you hear a distant chuckle as you look out the window at the rising sun. 

“Woah woah (Y/N), it’s just me!” That voice! You become still in his arms, glancing down at his wrists, tattoos! He turns you to face him. 

It’s club night and you get dressed into your silky red dress, before leaving with your sister and Sabrina. As the night goes on, alcohol overtakes your senses and you are lost to the music. You feel eyes on you, you dismiss it as the people in the club, but this stare feels much more intense. At one point you swear you see your fire dancer, but in a blink he’s gone, you must be hallucinating. It must be the alcohol in your system. Eventually the night is over, the alcohol has worn off and you head home. Sabrina gets off with a guy and promises to be home later so you have to leave the door unlocked, and your sister left earlier with Seth. Deciding not to get a taxi because your bank account is wounded enough as it is, you take the short route home, along the woodland path. It’s eerily quiet as you walk cautiously along, every small noise alerts you and makes you shiver with uncanny fear. You come to a dead stop. A figure emerges along the path in front of you. Every nerve in your body is telling you to run. It’s nobody. You think. Just someone taking a late night walk. Yeah right, at 3 O’clock in the morning?! That’s psychopath hour! Your breath comes in sharp pants. You start walking again, as you near, the physique definitely tells you it’s a man. He comes to a halt a few metres ahead of you. Wisps of Shadow? Swirl around him. He whispers something faint. You turn and run, sprinting off the path and into the trees, discarding your heels in the process. Oh god, oh god, oh god! His heavy footsteps sound behind you, closer than you realise. I am so dead. There’s no way I can outrun him, especially in this dress. Strong hands jerk your body back into a solid chest. You scream out. Thrashing in his grip, “Let me go!”

“Y-you.” Your eyes collide with his and an instant calm washes over you, but is soon replaced by building rage. “You. How dare you do that! What are you playing at?! I thought you were some sort of sadistic killer.” 

“Who says I’m not?” 

You halt, body tensing, before backing away out of his reach. He chuckles, “I’m only kidding.” You’re not sure if he is. His face drops, becoming sincere and his voice softens. “I’m sorry if I scared you.” You take a deep breath.

“No it’s ok, I was just- ” Your mind becomes foggy, shadows lingering around you, you feel light headed.

“Just what?” His voice sends your hormones raging, your body feels like it’s on fire as you step into his warmth.

“Who are you?” Your eyes narrow, you don’t even know his name.

“I’m Jungkook.” He grins.

“What are you?” His grin falters but doesn’t fall.

“I’m a person.” Your head lightens again, becoming fuzzy with lust. You fix your eyes on his lips, which look deliciously inviting. 

“How do you just appear?” 

He hesitates, “It’s a fiend thing.”

“What do you want?” You stand on your tiptoes, lips hovering dangerously close to his lips.

“Right now?” His gaze grows heavy lidded and… hungry, as he licks his lips, “I want to fuck you against a tree.” Your lips brush his, before you pull away completely, and back into a tree. “Wicked thing you.” He slowly steps towards you. “Did you enjoy our dance on Bonfire night?”

“It was…” You tilt your head, trying to find the right word, “Interesting.” He scoffs, stepping so close that his breath ruffles your hair.

“Just interesting? I thought it was more…” His head tilts up to the sky, exposing a defined neck that makes your pulse flutter. He looks down at you, like a predator sizing up his prey, “Lascivious... exhilarating even.” Your heartbeat quickens as he leans down, pausing only for a moment, giving you a chance to refuse, “You’re little dress is making me feel like that right now.” You allow his lips to close over yours and you melt. His hand moves to clasp your neck, as his tongue swipes out over your lower lip, asking for entry, you grant it. The sensation as he slips into your mouth weakens your knees, his hands shoot out to grip your hips, pinning you against the tree. You groan into his mouth as his leg parts your thighs. He licks and sucks over your jaw and down your neck, causing you to grind onto him, your nails digging into his shoulders. “That’s so fucking hot.” He growls onto your neck, making you grind harder and eliciting a moan. His fingers move to grip your dress, before shredding the top of it. You gasp, excited by his roughness and shocked at his strength. His eyes glitter at your exposed breasts, nipples perked, lowering his head he sucks one in before you can protest. His mouth is a shock, hot and burning, making your nerve endings stand on edge. Releasing your nipple with a popping sound, he circles it with his tongue before licking the swollen point. His tongue is rough, like a cats, causing your body to jerk back and your centre to press into his now prominent bulge. He chuckles before moving to your other nipple and glancing up to watch your expression. You squirm and whimper until he releases that one too, his lips meet yours briefly before his hands slide up your thighs. The skin on skin contact sends tingling sensations to your core, a strong longing takes over and you lift the dress off yourself, before reaching out to him. He clasps your wrists, looking deep into your eyes, nose to nose, “Eager are we?” The comment makes your cheeks flush red, his eyes survey your body, making you blush even more and you lower your eyes. Suddenly self conscious you cross your arms over your abdomen. He grabs those arms and grasps your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his and startling you. His eyes look like molten lava flowing through dark rock, shadowed in the corners, with streams of orange light crackling through. “Don’t - ever - hide yourself from me.” His ferocity turns you on, but you’re still gobsmacked by the eyes. You blink and they’re back to the dark shade they were before. That is not normal. Maybe I imagined it. You think.

“I-I’m sorry.” His grip softens at your voice and he begins to trail his hands down your body, raising goose bumps on your skin, before cupping your throbbing pussy. You jump at the sudden pressure, but as his fingers slip through your wetness, you find yourself arching into him, head lolling back against the tree at the motion.

His breath caresses your neck as he whispers in a sultry voice, “I like your eagerness. It makes what I’m about to do torture for you.” He gives you a devilish smirk before kneeling, tugging your red silk thong down with him. You yelp as he hoists your legs over his shoulders, and as his mouth meets your clit, a fire ignites in your core and you scream in ecstasy.

[hayleyb100]

Light My Way, Part 1

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 the end

⚠️ WARNING! ⚠️

-It is a twisted story of Pokemon Sun and Moon, and a crossover of Pokemon SM and SWSH. -It features Hau and Kabu as the main characters. -Extremely angsty. -Everything is headcanon. -It isn’t spoiler-free.

"How many times must I tell you about the Kahuna's resolve?! Recite from the top again!"

Hala's voice raged over the whole house. In front of him, there was his grandson ready to cry.

"I... I can't... I can't remember, Tutu..."

Hala shook his head in disappointment. He knew he was pushing the poor little boy too much, but he had no other option as his son, Hau's father, ran away from Alola due to extreme pressure and expectation of being the next Kahuna.

"Hau, I know this is hard on you, but you have to do this. Now repeat after me."

"......."

Hau's worn-out face tore Hala's heart apart. He knew Hau wasn't the type who is competitive to beat the opponent and thrive. He was rather a relaxed one who purely enjoys building friendships with pokemons and play. Hau wasn't someone who gives all out to others during battle. He just enjoys the battle as the process of building friendship. Hala knew all of that better than anyone that Hau would excel much better in other areas, but he couldn't stop. As the Kahuna, he had to make sure the tradition lives and continues.

Hau felt the suffocation finally loosened up when his Tutu went to bed and so did his mom. He lay on his bed breathing heavily. He couldn't picture him getting his first pokemon in a few months. He was dead scared that when he goes on the Island Challenge, the pressure he is getting will only increase. The citizens around Alola, Captains, Kahunas... Everyone will say how he is the grandson of Kahuna and one day will take over Hala's place. And they would judge his performance, saying things like 'Why can't you do things better when you're Kahuna's grandson?' To Hau, that title of Kahuna's grandson was just an unbearable label that his father dumped on him. He just wants to have fun. Some fun with his Tutu, mom, and pokemons he loves. Is that so much to ask? At times like this, Hau's heart filled up with resentment toward his father who ran away from his burden. He was sick and tired of wearing a fake smile to act as if nothing happened.

It will be another suffocating day tomorrow. Another day of boring studies like learning the resolutions, type advantages, and strategies by heart. And another day with that scary face from his Tutu.

No.

No!!

Before Hau realized it, he quietly sneaked out of the house and headed to Route 3 behind Iki Town. He loved to go there at night whenever he was under extreme pressure because no one was there and he could watch the ocean on the cliff. No one to bother him. Just a quiet moment of his own.

Hau crouched near the cliff and listened to the waves underneath, crying silently. He wanted to escape. He wanted to go somewhere beyond that horizon of the sea, where no one knows him. But he soon shook his head. He didn't want to rip Tutu's heart as his dad did. He knew how much Tutu agonized after realizing his dad went away from Alola. It was a sad dilemma. Hau didn't want to hurt his Tutu but being with him was too painful.

"Oh, whatever is the matter, dear?"

A soft, gentle voice came from behind. Hau looked back and there was a gorgeous lady with long blonde hair. She was looking worried.

"Why, hello!" Hau smiled after quickly wiping off the tears. There goes his habit again.

"What a lovely child you are with such a bright smile. What is your name?"

"It's Hau!" Hau was uneasy but was a little relieved when the lady wore a warm smile that was soothing.

"Cute name too, indeed. It's a pleasant coincidence that we ran into each other while I was wandering around the islands in search of a starry cloud. But I can still see the tear marks on your cheeks. I just find it hard to turn my eyes away when such a cute little child like you is in pain. May I do anything to help you?"

The lady asked, still smiling as if she's a saving grace to Hau.

"Well, thank you! But I'll be okay. I have to go back home soon!"

Hau denied the offer as she was a stranger, but she kept on smiling warmly and insisting.

"A short visit to my home won't hurt you, right? Trust me, if you feel lost and helpless, strolling somewhere else helps a lot. I'm sure it will refresh yourself."

Hau started to waver. All he wanted to do was get away from the home full of stress. And the lady's smile was hard to resist since it was so relieving. Hau nodded and took her hand. It was soft, soothing him even more.

"But can I at least tell my mom or Tutu that I'm just going away for a moment? My mom said..."

"Oh, don't worry about it, my child. We'll come back before they even wake up. They won't even know you are gone for a while."

With the assurance from the lady, Hau went to the dock and on the boat to somewhere.

They soon arrived at the white building, as clean and beautiful as the lady herself. Even the interior of the building was extremely gorgeous. But as soon as they went in, Hau started to feel strange. The lady's grip on Hau's hand started to get stronger and stronger.

"Umm, my hand hurts..."

"Don't worry. We're almost there."

The blonde lady kept walking until they arrived in her room. She opened up the portal behind the mirror.

"Now, get in here."

Hau looked at it but shook his head. He started to find it hard to retain the fake smile on his face.

"Urr... Umm... No... I don't want to get in there..."

"Don't worry about a thing. Just trust me. Children would all be much happier if they'd only listen to the adults around them."

the lady still wore a gentle smile of relief. But in contrast, her grip on Hau's shoulder was intense. Hau nodded in a little fear and went in.

But as soon as Hau went into the portal and was transported to an unknown place, he froze in horror. 

There were pokemons in a glass case, frozen solid into cold sleep.

"They are my precious babies kept for eternity." the lady's smile turned hideous in a flash.

"I want to go." Hau started trembling.

"No, you're not." lady's smile turned to a grim smirk.

"That tear mark... That sadness behind the fake smile. It's the perfect specimen that stimulates my inner maternal instinct. Your beauty is ought to be kept for eternity as it is right now. Isn't it grand?"

"Let me go!!" Hau tried to shake the lady's hand off in extreme fear, but her grip just got fiercer and fiercer. As Hau was dragged away from the portal, horror engulfed him.

"H... Help!! Help!! Mom! Tutu!"

Hau's voice cracked up shrieking for help, but nobody came.

Not until he was shoved into one of the glass cases.

Hau started to bam the glass wall helplessly.

It did nothing.

The surroundings just became frigid very quickly.

Hau's body started to become stiff and his consciousness faded away, as he watched the wicked woman smirking in satisfaction of adding another collection.

________________________________

"There they are!"

Several months later, the police and others barged into the facility. They almost lost their breath in shock to see all the frozen pokemons kept as a collection. They all shook their heads thinking the room's owner, who was arrested in an attempt to bring Ultra Beast to the land and destroy everything, was a psychopath for sure. But the worst was yet to come. In the largest glass case in the middle, there was a human boy of about 11 years old who was frozen along with other pokemons. And it didn't take long for them to realize who he was. He was the one and only grandson of Kahuna Hala who had gone missing.